


Kaffeost

by AETXL



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Drunk Elsa (Disney), Eventual Smut, Explicit will be marked, F/F, Fluff, Give Elsa A Girlfriend (Disney), LGBTQ, Magic, Maren needs a drink, Mature Lite, Minor Anna/Kristoff (Disney), Romance, Useless Lesbians, mostly teen tbh, rom com
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26413246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AETXL/pseuds/AETXL
Summary: Elsa has a lot on her plate: Finishing her law degree, getting her little sister through college, managing the ice magic she was born with and the mysterious, elemental creatures that have followed her around for the last few years. She does not cook in general, but she wants to bake a cake for her sister's upcoming birthday.Honeymaren runs a tiny café near the university called Kaffeost. It's hard work, money's always tight, so she offers monthly baking classes to help make ends meet. Despite usually finding them dull and unpleasant, one night proves very different.---COMPLETEI think this is the first fic I've written from beginning to end that's 100% fluff.Mature Lite: There is a sex scene (That will be marked). But it's more rom com than anything else. Gift for Andreu, and Thanks to Blunaowl for motorcycle tips!
Relationships: Elsa & Honeymaren (Disney), Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney), elsamaren - Relationship
Comments: 245
Kudos: 292





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Andreu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andreu/gifts).



> Gift for @andreu and thanks to @blunaowl for motorcycle tips!

**🌧**

**Chapter 1: Meeting**

**Honeymaren**

Kneeling in the rain, Honeymaren squints as she untangles the heavy chain in her hands, wraps it through her bike spokes and locks it at last. She reaches behind her, relieving her belt of the U-Lock, the second line of defense for her bike, which she swiftly attaches to the bike rack outside her bakery. Ducking under the awning, Honeymaren digs in her rain jacket for her keys and shakes as much excess water from herself as possible. Once inside, Honeymaren relocks the door. Leaning forward, she checks the clock on the wall above the door, a small slice of a birch tree branch with golden arrows ticking away: six in the morning. An hour until open.

_I’ve opened with less time before_ , she decides with a nod. Then she remembers—“Shit!”—to disarm the alarm. Honeymaren runs to the back door and punches the code into a tiny box on the wall. She sighs with relief—no way she can afford a false alarm. _Could use a new handle on the back door though_ , she thinks to herself with a smirk, remembering how she got herself in the position of only entering her tiny café through the front door to begin with.

At last, Honeymaren shivers out of her protective layers and relieves her braided hair from her bike helmet. Hanging it all up and replacing the helmet with a forest-green beanie, she grabs her apron next and heads into the walk-in refrigerator. It’s full to bursting. Mostly because it’s small. Before the light’s even fully on, she grabs the rack of sheet pans, wheeling it back out the door. Each sheet pan has various pastries of different doughs and shapes, treats waiting to go into the oven. They all reached the end of her extensive preparatory steps before being lined up at the end of her night yesterday. After that, she goes back in for the covered trays and wheels them out as well. While she waits for her ovens to heat up, Honeymaren peeks in at one of the covered trays. Perfectly smooth dough balls rest inside, the product of 72 hours of careful mixing of freshly milled flour and fermenting with her house yeast strain.

“Smells great,” Honeymaren smiles to herself. Several loud beeps echo through the tiny open kitchen—all of the ovens are ready. With practiced ease, Honeymaren lifts each tray to its accompanying oven and sets timers on her phone. Snapping her fingers at herself, she jogs to the back, grabbing a stack of white hand towels and extra soap for the bathroom since it looked low last night. Before she can empty her hands, a rough knock on the back door catches her attention.

“Lemme in, lemme in!” Honeymaren’s little brother, Ryder, yelps. Dropping the items on the stainless-steel island in the middle of her open kitchen, she opens the back door for him. He rushes in, lifting his jacket up over his head, stuffed into his favorite reindeer beanie. Stomping into the building comes with his towering height, and unfortunately includes splashing rainwater all over his shorter sister.

“Ryder! Come on!” she groans, lifting her hands in defense of herself.

“I can’t help it,” he whines, trying to take his jacket off.

“Wait, wait! At least let me get out of the splash zone!”

“Ha ha,” Ryder jibes, but it quickly turns into a yawn. “You make coffee yet?”

Honeymaren leans her hip against the counter in the kitchen, away from the tiny space that constituted a ‘hallway’ in this place.

“Alas, no,” she replies. “You weren’t the only one who ran late this morning.”

Ryder slowly, clumsily removes his outerwear, tossing it up by Honeymaren’s jacket and rain pants. “Oh boy!” he says, grinning, jokingly pumps his fist. “One of those days!”

“Don’t worry too much, the money-makers are all in the oven,” Honeymaren offers, starting to set up her kitchen space while Ryder rummages in his backpack for his apron.

“And it’s Tuesday.”

“And,” Honeymaren nods, “it is Tuesday. Basically a day off.”

“Yet here we are,” Ryder says, feigning wonder. “Working.”

Looking him up and down under her unimpressed gaze, Honeymaren responds, “I haven’t seen you work yet.”

The siblings exchange funny faces and chuckle. Ryder ties his apron on and jogs to the front counter to prepare the drip coffee, habitually saying “corner” as he passes counters, then rushing to the back to grab trash, recycling, and compost bins, saying “corner” the whole way back as well. While he sets up the ‘Front of House,’ Honeymaren returns to the walk-in, checking one of the several clipboards hanging off a magnetic hook on the outside of the insulated door.

“Wait, what Tuesday is it today?” she calls to the front.

“Uh, the kind of Tuesday I’m glad it’s not patio season yet?” Ryder shouts back, rushing to flip chairs.

Honeymaren chuckles a little at that. “No kidding. I mean which week of the month?”

“Second, I think.”

“Aaaaahhhhhhh noooooooo,” Honeymaren moans. She presses her head against the wall behind her.

“What?”

Reaching for her own backpack, Honeymaren pulls her work laptop out and walks it to the kitchen to check her calendar, also grumbling, “Corner.” Louder, she moans, “I have one of those discount baking lessons tonight.”

**Elsa**

“Honestly, Anna, why do I buy food if you’re not going to eat it?” Elsa admonishes her younger sister over the phone. “I _understand_ that coffee shops on campus exist, but then don’t expect me to keep buying _Eggos_ you ask for, then sit around and get freezer burn.” Suddenly choking on and spilling her mug coffee, Elsa hisses into her phone, “ _Anna!_ How dare—! _Lower your voice!_ That isn’t funny!” Wincing as she grabs paper towels to clean up the coffee mess on her floor and kitchen table, Elsa growls through her teeth, “You know we don’t talk about my… _condition_ outside of this house. Listen—Enou—Anna, just—would you stop?! Just go to class! … Love you, too.”

With an agitated sigh, Elsa drops the wet mess into the trash and looks around the house. The bungalow is a mess, the telltale sign that Anna ran late to her university class this morning. That, or a certain wind spirit had let herself in. Both, most likely. From where Elsa stands in the kitchen, she can see Anna’s trail through the front room. If she had to guess, there’s probably some kind of mess out on the porch, too. If she felt really daring, Elsa could peek into Anna’s bedroom down the hall and see a real tale of horror.

_Not today._

Elsa touches her forehead, shutting her eyes and willing away a headache. It’s a lot less mess to clean than if she kept their parents’ house after they died. Like a mantra, she repeats mentally that downsizing means less mess. And right now, she needs to get to campus herself.

Looking out the window at the rain in their side- and backyard surrounded by tall wooden boards, Elsa almost swears at the sight of a watery horse watching her. Instead, icicles shoot out her hands, attaching her to the kitchen table. Staring down at her hands, Elsa grumbles and yanks them out of the ice. Glancing up at the Nokk prancing around again, Elsa wonders if the creature might be faster than the car. Not that she would or ever had ridden on his back.

Decisively, Elsa heads to the back door, grabbing her car keys from her purse on the way.

**Honeymaren**

“Have a good day!” Ryder says to a little redhead rushing out the door with her coffee cup in one hand and a pastry in the other.

Behind him, Honeymaren uses two towels to pull out a sheet of spiced sticky buns. She looks up and his back. “Was that the end of the line?”

“Yep!” Ryder says, smiling back at her. “Think it might be time for me to head to my _other_ job! That girl’s in the gen ed class I TA in the afternoons, and she’s always late. Chances are she and I are both late right now.”

Chuckling, Honeymaren nods. “What class do you have today?”

The young man with messy dark hair grimaces. “Biochemistry.”

Honeymaren winces. “Oof! Don’t work too hard, kiddo,” she says, lightly punching Ryder’s shoulder.

“Never! It’s all about that veterinary medicine!” he says, shrugging. “With math. Way more math than I expected.” Already removing his apron, Ryder starts for the back door.

“Fight the good fight,” Honeymaren calls, watching him go.

“See you soon!” With that, Ryder ducks out into the rain.

After attending to a few more baked goods, Honeymaren tidies up the front room after the last of the morning rush leaves the building. She pulls up a stool to the front counter, grabs a second mug of coffee, opens her laptop. Admittedly, she _should_ be checking her email for catering inquiries or going over orders and deliveries for the week, but instead Honeymaren eyes the baking lesson website. A couple of attendees have already canceled. If no one shows, it might be a slightly tougher month for the bakery. Then again, if no one shows, Honeymaren could have the night off. Her fingers tap unconsciously as she refreshes the website.

**Elsa**

She could go home. Elsa looks at herself in the rearview mirror of her car, parked across the street from a cheerful looking café with a small wooden sign above the door: _Kaffeost_. The rain has lessened greatly since this morning, yet in the early spring cold the cozy spot looks warm and inviting. However, she stays in the driver’s seat, hands all but glued to the steering wheel. A group baking class offers Elsa little promise of enjoyment. People aren’t her strong suit. Maybe a few people, fine, but an unscripted interaction with strangers—probably couples for the most part—absolutely not.

But she paid for it.

_I’m doing this for Anna._

And if she doesn’t move now, she’ll be late.

On principal, Elsa gets out of her car and walks across the street. With a determined huff and a guarded face, Elsa opens the door to the jingle of a small bell overhead.

_Kaffeost_ sweeps her off her feet. It instantly reminds her of a charming cottage—not cute though—rough around the edges, practical. Charming to her. Because it reminds Elsa of absolutely no familiar environment from her own personal life. As far as she’s concerned, that’s a good thing. _Anna would love this place,_ she thinks with the hint of a smile.

Some kind of alternative R&B plays quietly in the background. Diamond-pane windows face the street with a small wooden bar in front of it, and a row of wooden stools in front of that. No more than three small tables fill the space between the door and the front counter. An espresso machine shines like a royal diamond beside a cash register there. Beyond another shelf—covered in various coffee apparatuses that Elsa recognizes from other shops but has never bothered to learn about—there’s an open kitchen full to each corner with ovens, shelves full of bowls and tools, and some kind of giant mixer. She can see clear to the back door of the café, filled with warm light and the smell of baking spices.

Around a corner by the back door, a young woman comes running, smiling, tying an apron around her waist. “Welcome! It’s just you and me tonight! I’m Honeymaren.”

With one look at her, Elsa knows instantly that she’s totally screwed.


	2. Baking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GA, no warnings.  
> I don't even think I cussed.  
> So I'll do that in the end notes.

**  
**

**Chapter 2: Baking**

**Honeymaren**

The bell!

Honeymaren rushes back out of _Kaffeost's_ dry storage ‘room,’ tripping over an empty cardboard box she hasn’t broken down yet. (It’s actually a hallway with no destination along the back wall, shelves nonetheless fully stocked from one end to another.) She grabs her apron back off the hook, throws it on over her beanie and rounds the corner with haste.

_Whoa!_

She didn’t know blue eyes could be dark and alluring like a stormy sky.

A tall woman in heels and a lavender raincoat watches her, standing just inside the front door. Her braided blonde hair looks perfectly executed and somehow a little wild, resisting restraints. Words come out of Honeymaren’s mouth without her realizing she’s saying them: “Welcome! It’s just you and me tonight!”

Now, discreetly eyeing the stranger up and down, Honeymaren is _just fine_ with that arrangement. She takes the few steps from the hallway into her kitchen, nods her head to beckon the student in. “I’m Honeymaren.” The guest remains inscrutable for a short moment; from that split second, Honeymaren decides she’s probably straight or otherwise uninterested in women. That’s okay. Still gorgeous… should be a model…

_Okay,_ she thinks, mentally preparing herself. _White lady sisterly._

\---

**Elsa**

_Say something!_ Elsa commands herself. “Thank you.” Renewing her control over her body, Elsa spots coat hooks along the wall beside her and hangs up her coat and purse, followed by her blazer. Pressing down her blouse and pencil skirt, she walks toward… _She literally just told you her name and you don’t remember?_ she chastises herself.

In her own defense, this person has the most gorgeous brown eyes Elsa has ever seen in her life. Period. Two long, dark braids sweep down her back from under a forest-green beanie, making her yellow flannel pop all the more. She smirks at Elsa, pushes up her sleeves and offers a hand to shake. Gulping, Elsa accepts, hoping that her face stays as neutral as possible.

“What’s your name?” the chef asks.

“Oh!” Elsa shakes herself. “I’m Elsa.”

With a smile and a slight shrug, her host replies, “Beautiful name. Let me just check you in.” She turns toward a sticker-laden laptop on one of the countertops, and Elsa takes a moment to admire her mustard boots and… _fitting_ , worn jeans. After a couple clicks, the chef spins back around to face Elsa, who quickly fixes her face with an innocent, tight-lipped smile. “So, seeing as you are the only pupil for our baking class this evening, why’d you sign up?” Before Elsa can answer, the woman stands, smiling again, and asks, “I completely forgot, are you hungry? Thirsty? Usually these classes have snacks and adult beverages.”

Already walking past Elsa, she mumbles in response, “I drove so I’d rather not drink.”

“Corner. Sounds good!” she says from around a corner. When she returns, a plate of finger sandwiches and another of brownies precede her. Holding them each up toward Elsa, she says, “Here you are, Elsa.”

Guiltily, Elsa takes a brownie with a grateful nod.

“Ah, dessert before dinner. You’re my kind of woman!” the chef says, smirking as she puts the plates down beside the computer. She too takes a brownie. For her part, Elsa stifles a choke, feeling herself blush across her shoulders and chest under her shirt. “Back to my original question,” the chef continues after enjoying a bite of her creation, “How’d you find out about _Kaffeost?_ What brings you to my ‘Introduction to Baking’ class?”

“My sister, actually,” Elsa says, looking down at her heels. They match her blazer. “I want to make her a birthday cake for her twenty-first birthday, but I’m not much of a cook.”

The chef nods thoughtfully. “That’s really sweet, definitely not the traditional route.”

“We’re not exactly traditional,” Elsa mumbles with a quiet chuckle, still looking away.

Then she remembers that, in a quiet room with only one other person, mumbling doesn’t hide much. Her counterpart smiles kindly as she softly asks, “What do you mean?”

Elsa starts speaking after a moment, wondering why she isn’t hiding herself from this stranger. “Our parents passed a few years ago. I became her guardian.” Although remaining silent, the stranger nods slowly, brown eyes offering compassion. “We’re both at the university near here. She’s getting a Bachelor’s and I’m finishing my law degree.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She tips her head, looking at Elsa closely for an uncomfortable moment. “Actually… is she by any chance a redhead?”

“Reddish brown, yes?” Internally Elsa stabs herself with a touch of blame for telling a stranger anything about her sister, let alone herself.

A big smile crosses the chef’s face. “I think I’ve met her. She comes to _Kaffeost_ all the time, bit shorter than you right? Often running late?”

Chuckling in earnest, Elsa nods. “Always running late.”

“Anna, right?”

“Yes,” Elsa agrees, “That’s her.” The sense of guilt lingers, but relief follows, too. Anna _would_ love this place after all.

Nodding with exaggerated approval, the chef says, “She’s here almost every day!” Then she adds with a wink, “And she always tips very well.”

_She had better_ , Elsa thinks, eating her brownie in one bite to avoid dealing with the wink.

“Okay!” Standing upright with a cute grin, the chef starts pulling out tools from the shelves under each counter. “So, let’s bake a cake. What’s your sister’s favorite flavor for desserts?”

“Definitely chocolate,” Elsa says, moving out of the way. Bumping into one of the counters, she feels startled spikes of ice form under her hand when she catches herself. She quickly thaws it, then turns and realizes that the chef must have gone into the back. Indeed, she comes back into the kitchen carrying an impossible load of heavy-looking items. Depositing it all on the central table and unpacking it, she looks Elsa in the eye and winks again, saying, “Get ready. A chocolate cake from Honeymaren’s kitchen is divine!”

Trying to quell a shiver, Elsa internally groans, _I am so screwed_.

_… and what a beautiful name._

“Let’s start with ingredients. Most of these things you can find at your local grocery, but if you’re interested I can sell you some of our house flours—I buy from a local mill that does everything fresh, and that goes a long way in most baking.”

Honeymaren points out large covered bins on wheels with giant scoops attached in a corner of the room. _How many kinds of flour are there?!_ Elsa wonders. The motion of Honeymaren picking items up from the table retrieves Elsa’s attention.

“But anyway, some things to note,” Honeymaren says. “You’re going to want Dutch-processed dark cocoa powder, because it’s treated to reduce acidity in your finished cake. That’s going to let us use buttermilk, which has a pleasant tang flavor to its acidity. We’re going to use some brown sugar, which is also acidic, alongside regular granulated sugar, but that’s going to be balanced out by using both baking soda _and_ baking powder. Baking soda’s just like the base we used to make volcanoes in school, right?”

“Right,” Elsa says automatically, her mind racing as she realizes she might be screwed in more ways than one. “Volcanoes.”

Chuckling, Honeymaren continues, “For the cake batter and the frosting, we’re also going to use a bit of ground espresso. This won’t greatly affect the flavor of anything in an obvious way, but it’ll help balance the sweetness. When it comes to chocolate, I think coffee has a way of just adding a little oomph, like salt in savory cooking. Well, all cooking really.”

“Okay.”

“Also,” she adds, picking up a small tin with an ornate label, “this part is optional, but for our frosting tonight let’s add the slightest touch of cayenne powder. When in doubt, spice it up.” The laughter in this woman’s eyes does not actually mock Elsa, but she might as well mock her given Elsa’s inner sense of turmoil. She’s not used to this… attraction and confusion, dragged out by new information she cannot possibly keep track of among all of the strange internal feelings and a complete mental daze from her long day.

“Oh, and let’s brown the butter for the frosting!” Honeymaren adds enthusiastically, reaching out to touch Elsa’s arm. “Don’t worry, I’m going to walk us through the whole process,” she says to Elsa, nudging her playfully across the table. “You’re not in this alone.” Without explanation, Honeymaren walks to the back again. Returning a second later, another apron in hand, she lifts it over Elsa’s head, ties it behind Elsa before she can object. Finishing it off, surely oblivious to the effect she’s having on Elsa and dangerously close, Honeymaren says more quietly, “We can’t go ruining your beautiful clothes with the treats in store though, can we?”

***

“Like this?” Elsa asks, swirling three whole sticks of butter in a pan over the stove as Honeymaren pours the last of the batter into the last cake pan.

Peeking over at Elsa’s pan, Honeymaren nods once. “Just like that.” She quickly sets aside the mixing bowl and squats down to put the three cake pans in the oven. “Beautiful, your batter looks perfect. We’ll check in on these in fifteen, it’ll probably be another few minutes after that, then they can cool. It’ll be different at home, but don’t worry about that yet. Meantime, we’ll get the frosting done.”

Elsa concentrates on the butter, watching the color carefully. Honeymaren suddenly presses close, watching the butter with a furrowed brow. Swallowing any sounds, Elsa tries not to jump at the contact. She watches the professional take a deep sniff.

“That’s it,” she praises quietly; Elsa’s throat goes dry. “Smells like hazelnuts, it’s perfect. Let’s get that off the heat and into the mixer, to your right.” Elsa glances, timidly side steps toward the mixer. As she slowly starts to pour the liquified butter into the bowl, it starts to drip down the side of the pan and onto the counter.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Honeymaren rushes back in, lays her hand over Elsa’s and tilts the pan more, perfectly aiming the hot liquid, while simultaneously holding the bottom of the pan with a small towel in hand. “Gotta be confident when pouring, especially hot liquids,” she advises gently.

Elsa can’t help but notice scars across both of Honeymaren’s hands, cuts and burns alike. Nodding sheepishly, Elsa says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Honeymaren says, stepping back and smiling. “This is what a class is for.” She nudges Elsa’s shoulder with her own. “Don’t be afraid to make a mess. I make way bigger messes in here every single day.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

Honeymaren turns back, surprised. Elsa questions why she spoke—how could _she_ possibly afford to make mistakes? But that rule only works if it remains unspoken. “Yeah,” Honeymaren says. “You said you don’t cook much right?”

“Correct,” Elsa says quietly, lowering the pan to the stovetop again.

“Do you think most people get browned butter right the first time?”

“Of course not, but—”

“But?” The slight tilt of Honeymaren’s head dares her to finish the sentence, and Elsa can’t possibly explain to her _why_ she must be exceptionally good, absolutely perfect, no messes allowed. It has been difficult enough to go from a shut-in teenager to head of the household, going through university, raising her sister, all while managing her… talents. As pressure slowly mounts in her throat, though, Honeymaren’s face softens. Slowly, she lays a hand on Elsa’s shoulder, and Elsa lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Looking away, Elsa quietly asks, “How’d you end up doing this?”

“Being a pastry chef? Owning a business?” Honeymaren asks.

_Sure_ , Elsa thinks a little sarcastically, nodding in silence anyway.

Although she pauses at the change of topic, Honeymaren smiles playfully—Elsa can hear it in her voice. “Actually, that is an excellent question. May I show you something?”

Without waiting for an answer, Honeymaren steps toward the front of the café and behind the counter there. Elsa follows, leaving the pan behind, a little dubious. Her teacher stands at the far end of the wooden counter, boxes of supplies and the tiniest dishwasher Elsa has ever seen underneath it. Honeymaren aims her thumb over her shoulder, turning Elsa’s attention to some small pictures framed on the wall. One of the pictures—an old polaroid—depicts two children laughing and covered in flour while an old woman behind them appears to shout angrily, and yet, she also smiles at the same time. “Is this you?”

“Mhmm! Me and my little brother. Our Gran wanted to show us how to make frybread.” She crosses her arms, and Elsa can’t help but glance at the _strained_ yellow shirt—there must be _some_ _serious_ biceps under there.

“What’s frybread?”

Shrugging, she replies, “It’s a First Nations thing. We’re half indigenous to North America, half Northuldra.”

“Northuldra?”

“Think Scandinavia, also Indigenous.” Honeymaren shrugs. “Anyway, Gran taught us to cook all kinds of stuff. Me mostly. But I loved it because I could make a mess and still end up with cookies.”

Biting her lip, Elsa enjoys the cute scene. “So you always wanted to be a chef?”

The cackle that comes out of Honeymaren startles Elsa, but she keeps her powers under control. “Oh no! I did not!” Honeymaren assures her. “I was going to do all kinds of stuff.”

“What changed?”

“Like I said, I get to make messes all day, and at the end of it there’s something sweet to enjoy. For now, I’m starting small. Hopefully one day, I’ll make enough messes to open a restaurant and serve full meals—unless I change my mind again!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I miss pastry chefs. Bread programs are hecking important, y'all. I still remember the woman who made the best caneles I've ever had in my life chastising FOH staff that a dessert program is just as important as the savory menu at a restaurant. 
> 
> On that note, it probably isn't clear here that Honeymaren has savory cooking experience and has opened her own cafe to develop her bread chops on her way to opening her own full service restaurant.
> 
> Y'all are super fucking sweet with your support so fast, thank you! Trust me, this lil fic's going to get me through the next several weeks


	3. Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated PG-13, but only for language

**❄️🍯**

**Chapter 3: Mess**

**Honeymaren**

Elsa giggles as Honeymaren spins the cake on a decorating turntable. Finally relaxed. By the looks of her apron, Honeymaren mentally thanks herself for tying it round Elsa—there’s plenty of mess on it now.

“Don’t spin it so fast.”

“It’ll come back around, the cake’s almost done. Just hold the icing spatula still,” Honeymaren instructs, starting to catch the contagious giggles herself.

After a pause, Elsa replies, “I cannot even.”

“Ha!” Honeymaren guffaws, shocked that someone as stiff as Elsa (at least a couple hours ago when she arrived) could have any awareness of Internet comedy or memes, recent or otherwise.

Terse, she asks Honeymaren (who doubles over in silent laughter), “Are you laughing at me?”

She looks right at Elsa, nose scrunched up and teeth showing, shakes her head. “I… am… not!” Her face turns red under Elsa’s gaze, one eyebrow raised, cocked like a threat.

“You’ve got something on your face.”

“Occupational haz—” That very second, Elsa takes the icing-covered instrument in her hand and swipes it across Honeymaren’s cheek. Shocked and delighted, Honeymaren’s jaw drops. For a split second, Elsa looks self-satisfied, followed instantly by surprise at herself. Grabbing another icing spatula from the countertop, Honeymaren dips it in the bowl of frosting, dollops it onto Elsa’s nose, and cries, “Take that!”

Said nose wiggles adorably. Before Elsa can do more than cross her eyes in disbelief, Honeymaren bolts around to the other side of the kitchen, taking the bowl of icing with her.

“Hey! Bring that back!”

“I trusted you with icing once,” Honeymaren teases. “Never again!”

Through gritted teeth, Elsa grumbles, “You’re worse than Anna!” But Honeymaren isn’t fooled—she can see the smile in those eyes. Elsa gives chase, and Honeymaren darts out of the kitchen, a yelp escaping her. With reckless abandon, she whips another dollop of icing over her shoulder and darts behind the coffee counter, trusting her non-slip boots. She spins around, and Elsa freezes not five steps ahead of her. Her own device still has plenty of icing on it. “Don’t you dare.”

 _Well now I have to_ , Honeymaren thinks with a grin. She flings more icing, and as Elsa jumps out of the way, Honeymaren rolls over the counter into the front room, immediately stumbling over a rogue chair. “Ow!”

In pursuit, Elsa backtracks out of the coffee bar, rounding it after Honeymaren. Righting herself, Honeymaren sends a solid scoop of icing to the chest. While Elsa laughs, Honeymaren shrieks and, with a literal handful of icing, runs at Elsa. _Like you do with customers_ , she tells herself sarcastically.

“No, no, no!” Elsa says, laughing. “Where’s the bathroom?!” she hisses to herself, turning toward the back of the building again.

“You’ll never find it without my help!” Chasing after her, Honeymaren can’t help but notice, “You’re really fast in heels!”

“Thank you!” squeaks Elsa, running into the dry storage hallway-to-nowhere.

“Ha ha!” Honeymaren stops at the corner, facing the now trapped paying guest of her café. Smiling but backing away, Elsa lifts her hands out in front of her. A cold draft rushes around Honeymaren’s front, making her shiver. She shrugs it off—spring in this tiny building is always weird. Grinning, Honeymaren walks forward until she and Elsa are face to face. For a moment, she considers _not_ avenging herself, especially given that Elsa bats her eyes so gracefully.

_Eh, fuck that._

Honeymaren simply pats Elsa’s cheek, leaving lots of icing in her hand's wake. Together, they succumb to giggles. Somehow becoming impossibly cuter, Elsa lifts a hand to hide her giggle behind, incidentally getting icing from her face on said hand.

Considering it, Honeymaren comments, “At least it’s probably tasty.” She licks leftover frosting off one of her own fingers. “Mmm, yeah, this is good!” Elsa chokes on her laughter, distracting Honeymaren. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Elsa replies. “Where, um, _is_ your restroom?”

“Right this way,” Honeymaren chuckles, depositing the bowl of icing on a shelf as she goes. “There’s always the mop sink, if you prefer,” she jokes, motioning to said apparatus squeezed between the back wall and the walk-in. Elsa doesn’t laugh. Up front, Honeymaren opens the door usually mistaken for a supply closet by first-time guests. “I should get a better sign,” she says awkwardly.

Opening it, she stands aside as Elsa enters. “Thank you.”

The door closes behind her, and Honeymaren wonders if she saw Elsa blushing. They had gotten pretty silly. She’d have a lot of extra clean up tonight. Then it occurs to her: She just licked a hand that had contacted Elsa’s face not a minute before. One, gross. Okay, the icing was thick enough that no skin-to-skin contact occurred, but still—she marches to the kitchen’s hand-wash station. Two, maybe she made the wrong assessment of Elsa’s personal preferences when she first arrived. The icing battle would certainly suggest as much.

When Elsa comes out of the bathroom, her face and (miraculously) her borrowed apron are clean. Glancing up at Honeymaren, she decidedly _does_ blush. And bite her lip. “Thanks,” she says simply.

Smiling, Honeymaren crosses her arms, trying to contain herself. “So, pretty sure the cake is done. Ideally it sets in the fridge for a few hours, but usually folks take some home at the end of the class.”

“Actually,” Elsa quietly reminds her, “I don’t want my sister to know I’m preparing this far in advance.”

“Oh, do you live together?” Elsa nods. “When’s her birthday?”

“Late June.”

“Oh,” Honeymaren nods, “Almost four months. That is pretty far in advance.”

“Believe me, I’ll need to practice.”

“If you say so,” Honeymaren says, motioning for her to return to the kitchen. Pointing out her laptop, she continues, “You’ll get the recipe tonight, I’ll email it out ‘to the class.’ Would you like to pick up the cake tomorrow? Usually folks get a few slices at these things, but I have full-size cake boxes for catering you could use.”

“Okay,” Elsa agrees, brushing hair behind her ear. Glancing down at herself, she continues, “Oh, your apron!”

“Right, right,” Honeymaren says. To her surprise, Elsa spins in place, lifting her braid out of the way… Apparently, requesting a hand getting the apron off. Admittedly, Honeymaren had been a little shameless putting it on _for_ Elsa at the start of the night, but she rarely ran into issue acting that way around straight women. Except for the bigoted ones, straight women always seemed to appreciate sisterly kindnesses like that. Frankly they’d earned it by dealing with men every day.

Straight women never do _this_.

Glad to have her own blushing cheeks hidden behind Elsa (and under a layer of drying frosting), Honeymaren reaches for the ties, pulls them loose. Licking her lips as Elsa drops her hair, Honeymaren accidentally touches the back of Elsa’s neck while lifting the apron over her head. She shivers. As soon as it’s clear, Honeymaren walks quickly toward the back to hang it up.

**Elsa**

“I have an awkward question,” Elsa finds herself saying, watching Honeymaren hang up the apron.

“Yes?” Honeymaren smiles. Her fingers worry at each other for a quick second before quickly removing her own apron.

“If I try to make this at home and run into trouble,” Elsa starts… _This is_ so _awkward,_ she grimaces, thinking how she nearly— _playfully like a fool—_ shot snow at this person. “May I… call you?” This night has been so far outside Elsa’s comfort zone, she knows she might as well ask for this woman’s number. It will probably meet with as much success as spitting into the wind, but then again, she almost shot ice at her and didn’t. Anything’s possible.

“Oh, of course!” Honeymaren says immediately.

Elsa tries not to smile too much, but a sigh of relief escapes her just barely—she’s shocked. Reaching into her skirt pocket, she pulls out her phone.

“Pockets!” Honeymaren exclaims.

“Yes,” Elsa says with a smile, “I always need pockets.” Once she unlocks her phone, she passes it to Honeymaren.

“Okay, well yes, feel free to let me know if you have any baking questions,” Honeymaren says. “I’ll see you tomorrow to pick up your cake. And, you know, feel free to stop by _Kaffeost_ anytime.” She hands the phone back, crossing her arms again as though she’s _trying_ to make Elsa imagine things. Arm things. “Anna’s lucky to have a sister like you.”

Elsa pauses at that comment, touched. Looking at Honeymaren’s impish grin, someone could miss that tenderness in those brown eyes. She nods quickly, unable to thank Honeymaren with words. Instead, Elsa licks her lips and feigns surprise at the time—it’s exactly the time that the website said the class would be over. “I should be going, I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Honeymaren says with a wink and a contradictory grimace. She follows behind as Elsa puts on her blazer, her raincoat, hangs her purse off her shoulder.

At the door, she takes one more look at Honeymaren over her shoulder. “Thank you again, I had a wonderful time.”

“Me too.”

“Have a good night,”

“You too.”

Once the door closes behind her and Honeymaren locks it, Elsa takes a deep breath. Sudden chittering meets her ears, and a fierce wind full of wet leaves blows around Elsa as she crosses the street. “Gale! Stop it!” Glancing back, Elsa fears Honeymaren might have seen—but she didn’t. Looking into the café isn’t as easy now that the owner has turned the front lights off, surely the same goes in reverse. The wind spirit nonetheless sings sweetly at Elsa. “No,” she hisses quietly. “You can be excited when I get home.”

To be fair, though, Elsa feels pretty excited.

And scared.

Maybe she should find someone else to retrieve the cake tomorrow. Maybe she embarrassed herself tonight. Maybe she imagined things. _Maybe I could ask Anna…_ _No, then she’d know about the birthday cake._

Inside her car, Elsa unlocks her phone. It opens to her new contact: Honeymaren 🍯 Nattura.

As though her little sister could send telepathic messages, Elsa thinks to herself: _Just get the damn cake!_

**Honeymaren**

“Thank you!” Honeymaren says enthusiastically to another customer headed out the door, moving quickly beside Ryder during the next morning’s rush. Another person in line steps up, and as Ryder accepts the guest’s mug from home (‘Saving the Planet’ discount!), Honeymaren quickly works the POS. “Welcome back to _Kaffeost._ Jessica, right? Let me guess, a small dirty chai?”

Even for a midweek morning rush, today’s a little hectic. Sweat beads down Ryder’s face as he operates the espresso machine, using his height and long arms as much as possible instead of walking back and forth. Honeymaren does that; she knows how to work the register faster and how to correctly divvy out pastries and loaves of bread, all while keeping an eye on timers for the ovens behind them both.

Once the line no longer goes out the front door, the siblings take a beat to fist bump and drink some water.

“What are we listening to, DJ?”

Ryder smirks. “Right now? This is Electric Pow Wow Drum, by A Tribe Called Red. Figured we needed a little extra help.”

“Seriously,” Honeymaren sighs, leaning back against the counter. When she looks up, two women approach the front counter. She stands at attention, ignores her aching legs. And arms. As usual. “Welcome to—oh hey, Anna. And Elsa, right?” She knows damn well her name’s Elsa; she just needs a second to catch her breath again because _goddamn_. The sisters really do look alike, and yet Elsa—what an _adult_ (in the best way) in all black, professional with silver accents - is a dream. _What if she was emo growing up?_ Honeymaren wonders excitedly.

“Lovely hat, Ryder,” Anna says, and Honeymaren remembers suddenly that she’s working.

“Thank you, kindly,” he responds with a smile. “Made it myself.”

“When do you have the time?” Anna asks.

_Barking up the wrong tree,_ Honeymaren thinks to herself.

“Believe it or not,” he says, “while grading all your tests and homework.”

“Noooo! Tell me how I did? No wait, don’t tell me.”

“What can we do for you two today?” Honeymaren asks, leaning forward to wink discreetly at Elsa as their younger siblings catch up.

With all the poised nonchalance she initially exuded last night, Elsa gazes over at her sister. Not a word passes between them, yet Anna responds without even looking. “Just a mocha with whipped cream, and a spiced chocolate sticky bun for me!”

_Definitely chocolate_ , Honeymaren recalls, keying in the order with a knowing grin. Glancing up at Elsa, she raises her glance right back at Honeymaren and they smile at each other. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Anna, taken aback. Honeymaren immediately realizes that Elsa might not be out to her little sister. “And for you?” she says. Elsa hesitates a moment. Then she pulls out a travel mug of her own. _Environmentalist points!_

“Just coffee. Black, please.” Both women glance sideways at Anna, but she’s moved on to pestering Ryder further while he prepares her drink. Quietly, Elsa adds, “And picking up the… catering order.”

Humming through a repressed grin, Honeymaren says, “Absolutely. I’ll have that right up.” She nods sideways and mouths silently to Elsa, “Does she know?”

Elsa sucks in her lips, shrugging slightly.

“Okay,” Honeymaren says, catching Ryder’s eyes on her—since she hasn’t acquired Anna’s pastry yet or had the order paid out. “Let me run to the back for your _catering_ order, and the coffee’s on me.” The surprise on Elsa’s face is easily worth more than the cost of the coffee. As she walks behind Ryder, she asks him, “Can you finish ringing them up? Just that mocha and the pastry.”

“Uh, yeah, sure?”

When Honeymaren returns with the cake box, Anna asks, “Whoa, Elsa, what is that?!”

“Law school birthday,” Elsa responds, expressionless.

Meanwhile, Ryder looks at Honeymaren, says, “Oh from—uh, last night, right. ‘Catering.’ Sorry miss, uh… Anna’s sister?”

“Correct,” Elsa says. Anna makes a face.

“Last night?”

She lies: “When I ordered the cake.”

“Right, okay,” Ryder responds, trying his best. “So… here’s your change,” he adds, holding out bills and coins for her.

“No change,” Elsa says simply. “Let’s go Anna.”

“Wait!” Ryder says, reaching further over the counter, but the sisters have already left with their drinks and treats. Honeymaren watches them cross the street, feeling disappointed. “Shit.”

“What is it? How much did they leave?” Honeymaren asks. “What’s shit about it?”

“Nothing!” he says. Watching the seated guests, he shows his handful to Honeymaren and continues at a bare whisper, “She gave me a hundred, I assumed she wanted me to break it.”

Honeymaren’s dumbfounded, stares at the cash in Ryder’s hand. “Shit!”

“So, Anna’s sister was in your baking class last night?” Ryder asks as he stuffs the cash in their tip jar and packs up his bag to go to class.

“She _was_ the class,” Honeymaren says. Thoughtful, she adds, “It kinda felt like a date.”

“With _my_ sister?” Ryder asks cheerfully. He’s trying to tease her, but he’s too sweet and genuine to pull it off. “Ooooo!”

“Gooooo!”

Ten minutes later, Honeymaren gets a text: “This is Elsa ❄️ Arendelle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank goodness I have this shit and you people because I seriously, viscerally hate the world right now


	4. CRJ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say on the record that baker-Honeymaren has a tum.  
> Every baker at every restaurant I've ever worked at has had a tummy. They have all been incredibly strong, each way more physically strong than they appear. AND they all have tummies.
> 
> Fluff tummies, commence!

🔥

**Chapter 4: CRJ**

**Elsa**

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” Elsa lowers her tablet, directing her disapproving look away from the news and instead at her sister, watching Anna pack her bag with a picnic blanket, sunscreen, snacks, water bottle, and absolutely no textbooks. She sips at her coffee, awaiting Anna’s response.

“It’s Saturday, Elsa,” comes the fated response as Anna packs, nonetheless gesticulating as she does. “And it’s the first beautiful spring day of the year! Maybe _some_ of us are sad to see winter go—”

“Careful,” Elsa warns over her mug of coffee.

“But the rest of us don’t have natural protection against the elements.”

On cue, a trill meets their ears. A blue salamander climbs up a leg of their kitchen table, scampering to the edge closest to Elsa. Catching sight of some light scorch marks among his footprints, Elsa lightly frosts her fingers and repeatedly pets along the creature’s back, soothing his heat. She glances from the salamander, Bruni, to Anna.

“Case in point!” Anna motions at Bruni enthusiastically. “I can’t cool off a fire creature! Or even safely enjoy his presence in winter time.”

Elsa subtly rolls her eyes, nods once. “Fine. But I know for a fact you have essays to write before Monday, and I do not advise tackling them all tomorrow. Do you need a ride somewhere?” _Or a reality check,_ she thinks, dubious about the whole plan Anna’s made with her friends to go ‘get some sun.’

“Nah, I was just going to take the bus,” Anna says with a smile, pulling her bag over her shoulder.

“You’re not going to wear a jacket? It isn’t _that_ warm out.”

Groaning, Anna walks toward the front door, dramatically taking her jacket off the coat rack within sight of Elsa. “Fine, _Mom_.”

“Anna!”

She’s already opened the door to leave. “What?”

“How late will you be?”

“How’s dinner time sound?”

“Good enough,” Elsa says, returning to the news. “Let me know when you get to the park.” Another trill reminds her of Bruni. Spinning her wrist, she gives him a small pile of snow, into which he leaps happily.

“Okay bye!”

After the door shuts behind Anna, Elsa looks at the time. She has several hours in the house to herself. She _could_ spend it all studying. Perhaps now is as good a time as any to get some baking practice in…

“Hey Bruni,” Elsa says, smiling. She easily provides another little flurry to the cheerful fire creature. “Would you like to help me in the kitchen this afternoon?”

He licks his eyeball.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

**Honeymaren**

Out in the sun on her apartment’s porch, Honeymaren enjoys a restful morning away from _Kaffeost._ Since most of her business comes from the nearby university, she gets to have weekends like non-industry people. Except during finals—she has a heart. She also has an abiding love for her coffee and cheese ritual on weekends, usually late in the morning after staying out late the night before.

As she lounges in joggers and a crop top in her hammock, enjoying another cool breeze that nonetheless pulls the weight of winter from her brown skin, Honeymaren’s phone suddenly vibrates, interrupting her leisurely scrolling. A text.

**Elsa** ❄️ **:** May I call you?

Honeymaren dips her _juustoleipä_ cheese in her coffee again, takes a bite considering the text. Naturally, she _wants_ to reply: “Yes, absolutely, did you try the cake?” Actually, a _lot_ more than that comes to mind. However, that in itself provides reason to hesitate. Clearly, this Elsa is prim and proper, possibly closeted (if Honeymaren had read her right in the café, that second time), while Honeymaren is none of those things. She’s also not someone who can afford to leave outrageously large tips for baristas.

Not that she has never left such a tip herself, but Honeymaren also knows from experience that most people who tip the best are also people who have the least to give from. The two times she’s seen Elsa, ‘having the least’ did not come to Honeymaren’s mind. Maybe it’s wrong, but the potential difference in ‘lifestyle’ does give her pause. But that adorable _face!_

**Honeymaren** **🍯** **:** Sure

Immediately her cell rings. Honeymaren smiles wide, allows herself a couple of rings to wiggle happily, singing softly to herself, “ _Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me maybe.”_ She takes the call, flipping her long hair with faux drama. “Hey,” Honeymaren lowers the tenor of her voice while fussing with her bangs. “This is Honeymaren.”

**Elsa**

There is so much sweat on Elsa’s body. So much that she doesn’t know what to do. She is not used to feeling hot at all, much less sweating. Even during long runs, stressful study sessions, or even the occasional panic attack. It is, without a doubt, the _worst_. The flames have died down from Bruni’s attempt to ‘help,’ but she knows that she needed help long before this… mess. This mess that is her kitchen in her house that she pays for as an adult.

She does not feel like an adult right now. _How do I even mess up baking a cake?_

As Elsa leans against an unharmed countertop, upon which rests her fire extinguisher (because apparently, ice powers cannot fix all types of fires), little Bruni crawls up her arm. He looks up at her apologetically, curling up on her shoulder.

Gasping for air, her good shirt mostly off—hanging from where she tucked it into her pants over a tank top earlier—Elsa stands over her deceased pride. Calling for help. Literally looking for the honeypot emoji in her contacts and dialing. Mentally, she _prays_ to whatever-the-fuck-gave-her-these-ice-powers-and-these-strange-elemental-friends: _Please pick up. No, please don’t. Please answer the phone, please._

“Hey, this is Honeymaren.”

_Fuck her voice is perfect._

“Hello,” Elsa starts, holding back a sound to communicate how astonishingly disgusted she is with herself. “It’s Elsa.”

A chuckle cut short. “I know. What can I do for you?”

“I need help.” _Fuck my life._

“What kind of help?”

_Any help_ , Elsa thinks. _I will take anything you offer right now._ “I think I messed up this recipe, and I don’t know how.”

“You practiced!”

Honeymaren sounds optimistic. For a split second, Elsa wonders if she should abandon this pursuit for that sole reason. _Stop it! Look at your kitchen!_ “I did,” Elsa admits. “It turned out very differently from the first cake.”

“Okay,” Honeymaren says, her tone changing slightly. Still upbeat but practical. “Different how? Let’s be specific.”

“It’s…” Elsa considers the smoke slowly escaping through her opened windows. “… hard to describe.”

“Like the flavor’s off?”

“Oh,” Elsa sighs, “There is much more wrong with it beside the flavor.” Silence. Elsa hates phone calls, and she can feel her impatience rising. It’s impossible to assess silences like this, to brace and prepare for the correct response. For all she knows, lifelong rejection lies on the other side of each silence and—

“So, this might be… uhhhh asking too much, which is fine, but could you maybe show me, or describe it a little more specifically? Like are the—”

Before she knows what it is she is saying, Elsa responds, “Could you come over and take a look at it?”

More silence. Very different silence. Maybe. Who knows?! Elsa sucks in her lips, angry with herself, dropping her head to the countertop in frustration with herself. Bruni leaps off her shoulder and darts behind the sugar jar, squeaking. _What am I doing?! What did you just do?!_

“Um, I meant more like a picture, but I’m not doing anything today,” Honeymaren’s voice pipes up at last, speaking very quickly.

Immediately, Elsa stands bolt upright again. She only glances at the oven and the cake for the shortest of moments. More importantly, she recollects Honeymaren’s presence—in person. How in just a few short hours she felt weak around this genuine human being.

Also, those jeans.

And she makes things out of chocolate.

“Did I hear you wrong, Elsa? I can still—”

“If you could come over, it would be much appreciated,” Elsa says.

Although Honeymaren responds immediately, Elsa doesn’t hear her due to several things happening at once: Bruni suddenly bursts into flames _again_ , which Elsa quickly ices over; a horse’s neigh echoes in the kitchen sink’s pipes; the tree in the small backyard behind her house bends under a sudden, hyperlocal _Gale_ , branches hitting the edge of the bungalow’s roof; and if she’s not mistaken, Elsa hears a rocky groan down in the basement.

She hisses at the elements urgently, “Be quiet!”

“Huh?”

“I’m very sorry, something happening here. What did you say, Honeymaren?”

“Just, what’s your address?”

**Honeymaren**

Hanging up, Honeymaren looks down at the address she’s written on a pad of paper. It doesn’t have an apartment number. Tapping her pen against the paper, she looks up the address on her phone. It’s _just_ far enough away that Honeymaren could justify taking her big bike out for a spin on a gorgeous day. Cycling would be fun, too, but it will take so much longer. And Elsa sounded pretty desperate.

_Mhmm, desperate_ , she thinks. A pleasant squirming sensation rushes through her body. She finishes her last sip of coffee while tapping her pen on the paper. _Yep, big bike. Just in case._

Nodding to herself, Honeymaren goes back inside her apartment to get dressed and grab her leathers: armored leather jacket, armored pants, leather gloves. She dashes out the back door, and as she goes down the back steps, Honeymaren waves at one of her neighbors watering some plants. Jogging across the small, shared back yard, she goes into a standalone garage facing the back alley and smiles as she turns on the light. Honeymaren lifts the heavy cover off her Triumph Bonneville T120, stuffs it in her storage locker, and pulls out her helmet.

Honeymaren turns, hesitates. _On second thought…_ Going back, she grabs her passenger helmet, puts it into its cargo net, slings it over her back. Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SorryNotSorry it's short.
> 
> Shout out again to @blunaowl (how tf do you tag people on ao3?) for motorcycle informations, here and further on.


	5. Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, cute one!  
> Rate PG to be honest

🏠

**Chapter 5: Trouble**

**Honeymaren**

Sunshine warms Honeymaren up through her leather and helmet, making a brisk, early spring ride more than tolerable. It’s perfect. With so few cars out, she figures there must be a sports game everyone’s watching, meaning she’s safe to enjoy herself. She leans into each turn, relishing the rumble of her Triumph alongside the sounds filtering in from homes and shops along the way, their windows and doors propped open for the first warm weather in months.

Before long, the street she’s seeking has arrived. Just as well—Honeymaren stuffed her hurriedly-braided hair into her helmet so quickly, and now she’s getting ticklish and stuffy. It’s a beautiful street, full of greystones, courtyard buildings, two-flats—classics in this city. Here and there a small bungalow interrupts the two- to four-story apartment buildings, refurbished over a century or so, and even those houses fit right in. She slows as she approaches the address, bracing her bike in front of one of those bungalows.

Double-checking the address, Honeymaren pauses before killing the ignition and dismounting. As she she considers the house, she removes her gloves and sheds her riding pants from atop her jeans, stuffs them all unceremoniously in her saddle bags. Meanwhile, she buckles the passenger helmet's sling to the saddle bags haphazardly. It's not the most secure choice, but she's distracted by old multi-colored brick with dark green trim; new purple paint on the wooden steps up to a little porch; bay windows; a garden that has, perhaps, seen better days… although if she ignores the grass, the _real_ plants look healthy for this time of year. Honeymaren breathes a sigh of relief, admitting to herself that she was afraid Elsa would be living somewhere that she would mistake a window for the door.

Pulling her helmet off, hair wild and a hopeful smirk on her face, Honeymaren jogs up the front steps, knocks. Inside, she hears movement, but nothing happens right away so she looks out at the yard, notices an orange bicycle leaning against the side of the house with a flat tire. A warm breeze rushes around the house, loosening Honeymaren’s braid a little more. When she reaches for her hair, she hears footsteps approach. The door suddenly opens to a very different Elsa than who Honeymaren expected—and she’s not complaining. Does she look stressed? Absolutely, yes. But her pale blue blouse barely buttoned up, practically falling off her shoulders, and tucked into black skinny jeans? Hair up in a messy pony tail? Very yes. So very much a yes in Honeymaren’s book. So yes... that her brain fizzles, forgetting how to make words. “Uh—hey, it’s me, Honeymaren,” she says, waving shyly. _Why are you waving?_

Elsa exhales, a relieved smile softening her sharp features. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”

Shrugging, Honeymaren says, “Emergency baking responder, at your service.”

“Thank God,” Elsa sighs, dropping her head back on her shoulders and rubbing her temple. It’s at this moment that Honeymaren realizes she smells smoke. Smiling again, Elsa motions for her to follow. “Come in.”

Entering, Elsa shuts the door behind her, and Honeymaren takes in the living room quickly, realizes this is not what she would have imagined when she met Elsa earlier this week. Dark hardwood floors. A tattered maroon rug in front of a fireplace, which is painted white with purple flowers. Dark green walls, like the trim outside. Old maroon furniture that looks like it was someone’s grandma’s things. Elsa pulls at her hair, smiling guiltily as she passes in front of Honeymaren. “This way,” she mutters, shrinking in on herself.

“Whoa!” Honeymaren exclaims as they walk into the kitchen. There’s still smoke lingering that she waves at, covering her nose, although it doesn’t seem to come from a cake pan sitting on top of the stove. She catches Elsa’s eye—still wincing in embarrassment—as she approaches the stove. As she reaches out to put her helmet down on the counter by the sugar jar, Elsa swoops in, grabbing and jerking it away.

“Here! Let me—!”

Honeymaren flinches, surprised at her sudden proximity.

Blushing and still grimacing, Elsa mutters, “I’ll just um… find somewhere without smoke to put this.” She marches back into the front room, leaving Honeymaren to ponder the odd behavior. Peeking back at the counter, nothing seems amiss there. Some soot that almost looks like a tiny dinosaur footprint, but compared to the rest of the kitchen that’s nothing. Burnt flour covers the countertops, a cracked mixing bowl sits sadly in a sink, and water puddles on the floor in the corner. Relatively speaking, the cake itself doesn’t look so bad considering the evidence.

Turning her attention to said cake, Honeymaren opens a few drawers looking for utensils, grabs a fork. Behind her, Elsa returns to the kitchen.

“You ride a motorcycle.”

The fork’s trajectory stops short of the cake, and Honeymaren smiles over her shoulder. “Yeah,” she starts, but stops at the sight of Elsa’s pinched lips, the tension in her neck, her arms crossed over her stomach. Honeymaren arches an eyebrow back at her. Smirking now, she asks, “Is that a problem?”

“No!” Elsa insists. Her eyes wander, clearly thinking a mile a minute. “I’m—I’m not judging.”

“That sounds like a lie,” Honeymaren says smugly, turns her attention back to the cake, digs a fork in.

“Wait, y-you shouldn’t eat that!” Elsa says, walking closer. “It’s not any good!”

Mouth watering slightly, Honeymaren winks as Elsa enters her field of vision. She takes a bite, closing her eyes. _Oh. Okay._ Honeymaren chews, thinking through the flavors, texture, balance and more, but she keeps her face entirely neutral. Slowly, she swallows. When she opens her eyes, Elsa remains at the corner of her eye, shifting anxiously. She turns around, easily tosses the fork into the sink, leans her hips back against the oven. “You used whole wheat flour?”

Blonde eyebrows flinch. “Possibly. It… I knew we had flour here, I didn’t think about what kind it was.”

Nodding, Honeymaren smiles gently. “Okay, that makes sense. And was that why you used baking soda exclusively, too?”

Under her breath but not quietly enough, Elsa wonders, “You can taste that?”

A little chuckle escapes Honeymaren, and she bites her lip. “I can, yeah.”

“Then I must have done that,” Elsa admits, wilting.

Sensing her distress, Honeymaren lightly rests her hand on Elsa’s shoulder. Her blue eyes shoot up. “It’s not burnt though,” Honeymaren says, watching Elsa’s terror ease. For a moment, Honeymaren wonders if she’s upset because of the cake or if perhaps Elsa might be deeper in the closet than she suspected. “So, what happened exactly?”

Again, she shrinks into herself. “I used what I had around, but Anna and I don’t cook much so what we have around isn’t… great.”

“I see.” Honeymaren takes a moment to look her up and down again, subtly, even though Elsa’s not looking at her. _No way she’s a gayby… right?_ “What about cookies?”

Elsa tenses. She looks confused. “What about them?”

“Do you ever bake cookies?” Honeymaren asks. “Even the pre-made store stuff that you just pop in the oven?”

“Not… not recently.” Elsa pauses, a smile flickering at the edge of her lips. “And yes, it was the kind that came from a tube at the grocery store.”

When Honeymaren giggles, she hears a strange sound outside, like rain or chime or a harp, maybe an animal—alive. “What was that? Did you hear something?”

“Oh that!” Elsa croaks. “Wind chime!”

Something about her face is a little unsettling, but Honeymaren just says, “Okay.” She pauses, bites her lip again, makes a leap. “Would you like to bake some cookies?” _With me?_

“What?”

Heat tingles up Honeymaren’s spine and crosses her shoulders, so she fiddles with her jacket, unzipping it. “Just, I think maybe if you broke down a whole chocolate cake into smaller pieces, it would be less intimidating. We, or I mean, you could tackle baking cookies, nothing fancy. Cookies don’t have special pans and they don’t require icing, so you could focus on baking soda versus baking powder, or you could get the dry-box kind and practice browning butter.” It all tumbles out of Honeymaren’s mouth so fast, she’s not actually certain what she’s said. Again. Certainly, it’s not as much cook-speak as she would use around other chefs, but Elsa is extremely kitchen-shy on top of her general shyness.

After a solid minute of contemplation, Elsa nods decisively. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, we should do this.”

_We?!_ Honeymaren thinks. Surely, she corrected herself from ‘we’ to ‘you’ earlier, but she’s not complaining either. “Great!”

“But not here.”

Hands return to Honeymaren’s leather jacket, fiddling with zippers, wondering if she can take it off because she’s hot again. “Oh? Wh… Why not?”

“Anna,” Elsa says darkly, more to herself than Honeymaren.

“Right…” She finds herself spreading her arms out wider and wider across the counter behind her, trying to air herself out, but part of Honeymaren sees that her hand is getting closer and closer to Elsa. Her pinky is so close that she wiggles it out, both hopeful that Elsa might see it, close the distance, and also berating herself internally for such a wish. But this woman is so… _sweet_ , stressing out about a cake for her little sister months in advance. And giving, and even silly and fun. Plus, she’s _so pretty_. Allowing herself a swift up-down once more, Honeymaren gulps.

Remembering Honeymaren, Elsa turns to her, saying, “My sister, she lives with me—”

“Right, I remember,” Honeymaren says kindly. “And you don’t want her to know… about…” She lifts her eyebrows pointedly, the nerves in her outstretched pinky alight.

Meanwhile, Elsa looks darkly into empty space. “The cake.”

“Right! The cake!” Honeymaren pushes herself up and walks across the kitchen. _What if she’s gay and doesn’t know she’s gay?!_ It’s not impossible. _I gotta get outta here before I do something stupid_. _Just looking at her makes me ridiculous._ Glancing around (and thanking her lucky stars she doesn’t have to clean up this kitchen), Honeymaren asks, “Where else can you cook besides here?”

“Um,” a quiet voice behind her starts. Even though she had just decided to stop looking at Elsa, the smallness of her voice makes Honeymaren spin on her heel. Pleading blue eyes look slightly down at her, makes her stomach clench. Anything she asks, Honeymaren will give. “I was wondering if we could try at your place?”

“Like where I live?”

Elsa’s eyes grow large, terrified. “I-I-I thought your café or, I mean, I thought I called you at work, that is, I’m not sure that—!”

“Oh!” Honeymaren laughs, releasing the tension building in her body. “We’re not open on weekends. The place is all locked up, there’s an alarm and everything.” Disappointment flashes briefly across Elsa’s face, followed by a heartbreaking emptiness, a shield. “But we _could_ bake cookies at my place if you want to.”

_Honeymaren, what are you doing?!_

“Really?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the fluff! It's keeping me sane. I live for gay panic.
> 
> Working on some Halloween-y elsmaren fic(s), tba


	6. First Batch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a longer one for y'all!
> 
> No maturity warnings, although for ace readers, physical attraction is definitely present and discussed.
> 
> How's everyone holding up? I really want cookies now, but I've got a mountain of halloween candy to tackle first

🍳

**Chapter 6: First Batch**

**Elsa**

As Elsa locks her front door and turns, watches Honeymaren descend her stairs and—as though in slow motion—swing her leg over the motorcycle, she knows that she’s done for once again. Then her sense catches up with her. “I-I could drive us?” she calls after her. “In my car?”

Honeymaren pauses from pulling stuff out of bags on her motorcycle, looks up at her curiously, says, “But then my motorcycle would still be here.” She dismounts the bike, walks back to Elsa with the leather items in her arms. “If you feel safer driving yourself, you can follow along behind me?”

Elsa licks her lips. Following behind Honeymaren in any context sounds like an excellent view at least. She nods, pinching her lips, and turns on her heel to walk behind the house to the garage.

“I’ll wait for you here?”

“Sounds good!” Elsa calls back, eyes darting over her shoulder to Honeymaren nervously. As she opens the gate to the tall wooden fence around her backyard. However, she hears a horse's nicker. Her attention immediately goes to the equestrian water sprite that has sprung out of the 'pond' she and Anna made for him in their backyard. Nokk stands there, rearing back. “No!” she says, holding a finger up at him sternly. “Absolutely no sprinkler today, no!”

Again the Nokk grunts at her, louder this time, shaking his head at her.

“No! And quiet down!” Elsa hisses, walking past him toward the garage. Suddenly, she sees Bruni scuttle under her feet, also toward the garage. “Bruni?! No, go back outside!” Under the door into the garage, Bruni sticks his tongue out at her. When she opens said door, Bruni sits on top of the dashboard, wiggling with anticipation. “I am not babysitting either of you outside today! Now get out of there!” She groans, rolls her eyes when the Nokk snorts behind her in the pond. Bruni bounces onto a passenger seat.

Out front, she hears Honeymaren’s motorcycle roar to life. There’s a sound in the yard behind Elsa, and she turns to see the Nokk ducking back into his pond, peeking his eyes and ears out toward the sound, adorably afraid. Bruni startles as well: Elsa glances back when she hears him use his whole body to pop open the car door and leap out, sprinting out of the garage, quelling his fearful flames by jumping into the pond and climbing atop the Nokk’s head, between the ears.

“Hm,” Elsa hums, slowly smirking at the two. _None_ of her strange elemental stalkers have interacted with a motorcycle before. Realizing her opportunity, she says to them, “Very well then.” She shuts the garage door and marches back out front.

Fully suited, Honeymaren looks up at her through her helmet. “Elsa?” she hears faintly.

“I changed my mind,” she responds simply, crossing her arms and posturing beside the bike with as much fake confidence as she can manage. “How do I ride this thing?”

If she wasn’t nervous before—and she was—Elsa definitely feels nervous now seeing Honeymaren’s eyes smile and sparkle while lifting the visor on her helmet. “Great!” The bike goes quiet. She swings off the bike again to stand next to Elsa, very close, so close Elsa instinctually steps back a little, wincing. Not that Honeymaren seems to mind as she _wiggles_ out of her— _Wait are those different pants?_

“Here,” she says, yanking the bulky, leather pants off her jeans, handing the former to Elsa. Her glance and hesitation communicate her confusion to Honeymaren quite clearly. Laughing, she explains, “Put them on over your clothes. They have armor sewn in, it’s to keep you safe.”

“Oh,” Elsa says simply, eyes widening and slowly accepting the pants. _There cannot possibly be a way to put these on gracefully_ , she thinks. “Thank you.” She glances sideways at her front door, wondering if she could go in to put these on, but before her eyes even return to the garment, Honeymaren politely turns around.

Once the strange pants are on, Honeymaren peeks back, hands Elsa her gloves, too, and the helmet tethered to her back with a… net thing. Lifting Elsa’s visor, too, Honeymaren asks, “Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle before?”

“No.”

“Let’s do a lap around the block,” Honeymaren says, then points at the bike itself. “Here’s where you’ll put your feet, and up here you can hold on. Just don’t lean, or you’ll affect the balance, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Elsa,” Honeymaren says, half her face still hidden in her helmet but tilting her head sweetly. Hands suddenly hold Elsa’s, pulling them out of her armpits. “It’s okay. We’ll go slow. I’m very cautious, promise.”

Her shoulders dropping, Elsa nods quickly. “Okay.”

When they climb on and the engine roars back to life, Elsa yelps, jumps at the sudden sound and sensation, clings to Honeymaren, and holds on tight.

***

It’s not just the assurance of a real break from the elemental creatures that have followed her around for years now. It’s not just rushing through the city at lightspeed on a beautiful day. It’s all of that while holding onto Honeymaren’s sturdy frame, feeling steady for long enough that Elsa feels like… she could be free. She could let go of… so, so much.

They’re turning and, remembering her instructions, Elsa holds on slightly tighter to Honeymaren to keep herself from leaning the bike off kilter. When they straighten up, Elsa looks around. The neighborhood looks lively: lots of people in gardens, children in apartment-building courtyards, more than one barbecue with a TV blaring something about sports, even a young man selling paletas on the warm day. Again, they turn a corner, further into the residential area, then into an alley and at last they stop.

Over her shoulder, Honeymaren says, “All princesses off now!”

“I’m no princess,” Elsa bites back loudly.

Luckily, Honeymaren’s lifting her garage door open when Elsa swings off the bike _less_ than gracefully. From inside the garage, parked (or whatever you call a motorcycle), Honeymaren calls, “All good?” She pulls off her helmet and, as far as Elsa is concerned, it is a moment exactly like she might see in one of Anna’s romcom movies. But gay.

Chills.

“Yes!” Elsa shouts after a noticeable delay. Quickly, she removes the leather gloves and helmet and returns them to Honeymaren.

Confirming her fears, Honeymaren approaches her, tilting her head with concern again. She asks, “Were you hot during the ride? You’re really red, let’s get that leather off you.”

“Oh! Um! Yes, I suppose,” Elsa stammers through the lie, grinning guiltily through her blush while trying to shimmy off the armored pants. “I’m predisposed to the cold,” she grunts, covering her lie up with a truth. She curses herself as she accidentally catches her fingers on her jeans, pulling _them_ down with the armored pants an inch before having to pull it all back up and try again, nearly falling over in the process. As she shrinks into herself handing them back, Elsa wonders if Honeymaren might have been hot on the ride in her leather jacket, seeing as she looks more than a little red herself.

“Come on, this way,” she signals to Elsa.

They walk into a backyard and up the four flights of stairs to the top of the old brick apartment building. Once they enter Honeymaren’s apartment and she hangs up her leather jacket, Elsa realizes AGAIN how screwed she is. Clearly, Honeymaren strength trains, because despite a seemingly slight figure, her black band tour shirt clings to every muscle: biceps and deltoids and… chest. And, if she’s not mistaken, Honeymaren’s wearing the same pair of _fitting_ jeans that she wore when they met earlier this week. Except no, because there is a small tear halfway up the back of her thigh on this pair, showing off a sliver of brown skin that practically glows like pearl.

“It’s not the best kitchen in the world,” Honeymaren says, drawing Elsa’s attention up to her face again. “But it’ll do for today.” She’s smiling oddly, nervously, confusing Elsa momentarily.

“I’m sure your kitchen is more than fit for the job.”

Honeymaren shrugs, digging into a pantry. “It’s not the biggest, my best equipment’s at work. This oven's a pain. But,” she says, pulling out a box of dry mix. “We’re focusing on technique anyway.”

Elsa feels a wave of anxiety hit, embarrassed to have taken the step back to box-cookies after seeing (and tasting) the cake she made with Honeymaren’s aid. Shame starts to seep in, until it occurs to her: “Why do you already have that?”

With a smirk and a shrug, Honeymaren says, “Alas, my brother. After a long day of ‘real’ baking, box mix cookies save time and energy when he wants study snacks.”

“Does he live here with you?” Elsa asks, trying to sound calm. Sure, the spirits are giving her space, but that doesn’t mean she generally enjoys _people_. Particularly while she’s struggling to handle her own attraction to this particular individual.

Nonetheless, Honeymaren laughs. “No!” She starts pulling mixing bowls out of cabinets. “Are you kidding? We would kill each other.”

“You’re not close?”

“No, we are, but I have limits,” Honeymaren says, and for the first time since they walked into her home, she looks at Elsa. Something about those brown eyes makes Elsa smile and bite her lip. They take a beat to look at each other, during which Honeymaren takes a deep breath, shakes herself a little. With an awkward grin, she finishes her thought, “He wouldn’t just barge in.”

“Good,” Elsa says.

“Yeah.”

“Now that I know he’s the teaching assistant for Anna’s class, I need you to keep her birthday cake secret from him,” Elsa adds, stepping next to Honeymaren, watching her set up.

“Right!” Honeymaren squeaks. “Secret birthday cake! Anyway, uh cookies—” She spins, opens the fridge and bends to look into it. “Let’s make some cookies.” As Honeymaren stands with the butter and eggs in hand, Elsa realizes she’s been gawking at her ass again, quickly averts her eyes.

“Yes,” she breathes, glancing from Honeymaren to the bowls to the mix and back.

“Hey,” Honeymaren says, laying a hand on Elsa’s shoulder. “You seem a little nervous—”

 _Oh God, she knows!_ Elsa stiffens, but Honeymaren rubs her shoulder lightly with her thumb. Immediately, the gesture relaxes her.

“—but it’s going to be okay.” Elsa immediately believes it, and she looks at her face again, assured by Honeymaren’s open kindness.

“A professional baker is helping you the whole way.”

With a smile, Honeymaren hands her the butter and a pan, leaving Elsa nonplussed. In that moment she was lost in Honeymaren’s eyes (and elsewhere), she completely forgot about the cake. No, cookies. Did she _want_ Honeymaren to be reassuring her about… other things? What was happening to her around this attractive, thoughtful, kind woman? Again, however, Elsa realizes that her host has been speaking the whole time while she’s mentally elsewhere. No no, she’s _here_ , just imagining being here under different pretenses… right? Wait, no—

“You okay, Elsa?”

“Sorry, yes, I’m…” Elsa starts, wincing at herself a little. _Making a fool of myself._ “What am I supposed to do?”

Giggling a little, Honeymaren reassures her: “Nothing new, you’re going to brown the butter, exactly like we did at the café. Most of these mixes just ask you to beat cold butter, so we’re changing this one variable, and everything else, we’ll do what the box says. Sound like a plan?”

**Honeymaren**

“Aaaaaand cookies!” Honeymaren announces, pulling the last pan out of the oven. Elsa watches her studiously, despite nothing very exciting taking place. “Look out, it’s hot.”

Elsa nods, then says, “Oh! Right!” and moves out of the way for Honeymaren to place the sheet pan down on the prepared counter. She carefully moves their cookies to a wire rack to cool, but Honeymaren grabs a pair of small plates.

“Come on, let’s have some.” She picks up a pair of cookies per plate and hands one plate across to Elsa, startling her a little.

“Thank you.”

“Don't eat yet. This way.” Honeymaren takes the lead, walking down the hall toward her living room and balcony, quietly grateful for a moment to lick her lips without her face being visible. She’s not certain what made her invite Elsa over—and she’s glad she did—but Honeymaren’s lesbian confusion levels are unprecedented. The moment she thinks Elsa’s confirming herself to be gay, she obliviously says or does something that drops every hint Honeymaren gives her.

“You’re home is beautiful!”

Honeymaren turns around to find Elsa walking slowly down the hallway, admiring the many pictures on the wall and plants tucked onto shelves and into corners. When she smiles up the hall at Honeymaren, she blushes a little. “Thank you.”

Her guest looks equally taken by the front room when she arrives beside Honeymaren. Eager to please, Honeymaren takes Elsa’s hand and says, “Wait ‘til you see the best part.”

“What’s that?”

Bowing slightly, Honeymaren opens the balcony door for her. Elsa looks out, gasps, smiles. “Wow!” Beyond the hammock, the wicker chair, and Honeymaren’s plants, much of the city rolls out below them.

“We’re on a slight hill,” Honeymaren says, following Elsa out and leaning on the brick banister. “You barely notice it from the sidewalk—until you’re biking up it—but we’re actually at one of the highest spots in the city.”

After a moment of admiring, Elsa sits down in the wicker chair, demurely crosses her legs. “It’s an incredible view.” Knowing she’s too antsy to sit in her hammock without incident, Honeymaren leans back on the banister to attend to her cookies.

“Ouch! Little hot!” she says, dropping her cookie back to the plate. Elsa reaches out quickly, but retracts just as fast.

“Are you okay?”

“Definitely,” Honeymaren says. “I’m used to much hotter things, honestly, just surprised me I guess.” That’s when she realizes Elsa’s cookies are already gone. She looks from her empty plate up to Honeymaren with wide eyes, followed by a sheepish grin. Smirking, Honeymaren asks, “How were they?”

“Very good.” Pausing, Elsa worries at her lip. Giving her space, Honeymaren enjoys the view and her cooling cookies. After a minute, Elsa softly says, “Thank you for doing this.”

“My pleasure,” Honeymaren says automatically. Sensing Elsa’s concern, she adds, “It’s no trouble. I mean, I don’t normally have guests from _Kaffeost_ over here. This is a first. Well, unless you count Ryder, or my industry friends. That is, other cooks and stuff.” _You’re rambling,_ she tells herself, witnesses Elsa blinking rapidly up at her. Not in a ‘come hither’ way either, more of a ‘what is happening, deer in the headlights’ look. Eyeing her empty plate, Honeymaren continues, “But that’s not, that is, I’m glad… that you are here. Because cookies are delicious, and you know it’s important to learn about cooking so I’m happy that uh…” A small sound, a quiet cross between a snicker and a snort, alerts her to give up. Looking at Elsa once more, spotting laughter in her eyes, she glares her way. “Shut up.”

“Rude.”

They both snicker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not bad yeah? They're both too polite for their own good. Hope you enjoy the fluff monster that is this fic!
> 
> I know we're going slow but trust me, it's worth it.
> 
> We are closer than we are far from chapter 11, and I LOVE that one! (Let's hope we all live that long lol)


	7. Siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings whatsoever, just some fluffy frozen family times  
> Nice and comfy  
> Because wtf is the rest of the world

🏍

**Chapter 7: Siblings**

**Honeymaren**

_Focus! Focus! Focus! Focus! Focus! Focus! Focus! Focus! Focus! Focus! Focus!_ Honeymaren tries her best to ignore the gloved hands once again around her stomach, inching up her waist at times and down it at others. At long last, she reaches the turn for Elsa’s street and a part of her—namely her chest, her head, and the lowest pit of her stomach—finally relaxes. Together, they lean into the turn, and Honeymaren does her best to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head at how _easily_ Elsa’s taken to riding her motorcycle. A Triumph is not the most luxurious two-seater and usually requires some getting used to. They pull up to her bungalow and Honeymaren kills the motor, but also feels a pang of sadness, a sense of lack as Elsa moves behind her, taking a few steps away from the bike. As she takes the helmet off, the blonde is smiling, giggling.

“That is a lot more fun than I expected,” Elsa admits.

Honeymaren lifts her visor and feigns shock, a hand to her chest. “You think I would _ever_ put you on a dangerous motorcycle if it was not at the very least fun?” Elsa giggles a little more, and Honeymaren smirks behind her helmet, pride mixed with hope bubbling up in her chest. But their time together has come to an end, so she too dismounts, accepting the leathers and helmet that Elsa returns to her. With her braid loosening and flyaways falling to her face, Elsa looks the picture of both elegant and relaxed.

“Thank you,” Elsa says, at last triumphing over that last glove.

“Thank me?”

She holds the glove a moment longer before handing it to Honeymaren. “I had a lot of fun, not just on the bike.”

Honeymaren nods appreciatively, remains silent for fear of letting her happiness at the compliment overwhelm either of them. Maybe she could reach out, touch Elsa’s shoulder again, but she’s stolen enough touches for one day. Instead Honeymaren simply says, “I enjoyed your company.”

“I…” Elsa starts, deflates, glances into her eyes nervously.

“Yes?”

Squirming anxiously, Elsa says quietly, “I think I might still ruin a cake if I try again.”

“Okay.” Honeymaren nods.

“So,” Elsa begins again, looking at her hands. “I wonder if I might…”

Hanging on every word, Honeymaren nods still more, biting her lips tight. To keep from shouting. “Mhmm?”

“That is, should I sign up for another class?” Elsa finishes, grimacing when she looks up at Honeymaren again. Her hands fidget around each other again, a habit that Honeymaren’s noticed (and even found herself mirroring) over the afternoon.

_Another class?_ Honeymaren’s furrowed eyebrows seem to communicate to Elsa for her.

“B-because this was fun and very, very kind of you to offer assistance, but I don’t want to take advantage of—”

“Elsa,” Honeymaren says, throwing her hand in the mix to split up the _fight_ between Elsa’s two hands. “It’s okay, I had fun, too.”

Still, she looks up at Honeymaren, uncertain and frowning. “I don’t want to take advantage of—”

“You didn’t," she assures Elsa. "I have browned-butter cookies at home. Anything I want Ryder to do over the next few days, he will do without question! Thanks to you.”

Elsa chuckles, takes a breath. Wincing less, she asks, “In that case, would you be willing to help me… learn to bake… again?”

“Sure,” Honeymaren says as nonchalantly as possible, leaning back against her motorcycle. “How’s same time next week?”

Relief visibly rolls over Elsa, showing off that lovely smile. However, a noise behind Elsa catches their attention. At the top of the front porch steps, an auburn-haired woman with sunglasses stands with crossed arms and pursed lips. Elsa gulps. Under her breath, eyes on Anna, she whispers to Honeymaren, “Yes, same time next week.”

“Should I go?”

She doesn’t laugh outright, but a contained sound reverberates in her throat and—except for her smiling eyes—Elsa remains unmoved. “Perhaps that is wise.”

“See you next week, then,” Honeymaren says, quickly putting on the armored pants and gloves, securing the spare helmet, and revving the engine.

“You’ll see me before then,” Elsa responds, eyes still on her sister. "At _Kaffeost_." Though unmoved, Elsa smiles mischievously at Honeymaren nonetheless, one eyebrow lifting _at her_.

**Elsa**

Without looking back as Honeymaren drives away, Elsa marches up the stairs to her little sister’s smug face. Without a word beyond her own raised brow, she walks inside the house.

“Where,” Anna says, punctuating her each word with a clap as she follows Elsa inside, “have—you—been, young lady?”

“Anna.”

“Elsa! I arrive home and don’t find a sister,” Anna continues, counting on her fingers, “No note! And the kitchen looks like your Captain Planet friends had a field day.”

“That they did,” Elsa admits, sighing as she looks at the mess in the kitchen she decided to abandon in pursuit of pretty lady.

“They did?” Anna asks, taking her sunglasses off and tossing them onto the couch, revealing a face most aghast.

“Yes, they did,” Elsa says again, pulling a regular broom and a hand-broom from a closet to start her clean up. A rush of air sweeps around Elsa, playing with her braid and filling her baking-ruffled shirt. “Hello, Gale. Anna left a window open for you, hm?”

Much more seriously and with grave concern, Anna asks, “D-did you get hurt or something?”

“No,” Elsa chuckles, “I simply am not as capable a baker as I thought.”

“What, you liked that lawyer’s birthday cake so much that you wanted to make it at home?” Anna asks, disbelieving and completely unaffected as Gale rushes to the couch and returns, ‘wearing’ Anna’s sunglasses.

“Something like that,” Elsa says, sweeping burnt flour and other debris off the counters. When she reaches the cake pan with her failed attempt, she smiles. And tosses the cake in the trash.

“Wha-wait cake?!” Anna cries.

“It’s not good, trust me,” Elsa replies. As she continues to clean, Gale blows into the kitchen, imprecisely sweeping items into Elsa’s dustpan. Unperturbed, Elsa merely says, “Thank you, Gale.” Little Bruni slowly crawls out from behind the toaster oven. Elsa smiles down at him, and he leaps into her hand, crawling up to the top of her head as his heat sizzles off her cool skin.

“Okay,” Anna says, her hands out in front of her as she watches the scene. “Wha… How did… None of this explains the riding home on a ‘bike of death’ with a stranger! Your words! Sound familiar?”

“Not a stranger,” Elsa says, still sweeping. “You know her.”

“I do? Wait, that was a girl?”

To that, Elsa chastises her sister with a look.

“Sorry! Okay, I dunno. Leather jackets and helmets cover a lot.”

“To answer your question: Yes, you know her from at that coffee shop you like so much.”

“I did? I do?” Anna does the math in her head, confused. “At… When you picked up your cake?”

“Yes,” Elsa repeats. “She’s your TA’s sister.”

“She is?”

“Do you pay attention to your surroundings at all, Anna?” Elsa teases.

“I do!” Anna shouts, backs off immediately. “It’s just… you seem… different. Not in a bad way!”

“Nothing happened, Anna.” Now, Elsa sees her opportunity to cover her tracks: Use a truth to hide a lie. A lie about cake. “I made a poor attempt at a cake but still wanted something sweet. It’s a nice day, so I went down to that café, and the shop-owner drove me home.” It’s a small lie, Elsa tells herself. To cover her cake-baking tracks, she tells herself. It’s _for_ Anna, she tells herself. (And has nothing to do with _who_ was aiding in this enterprise.) “And,” Elsa continues, deciding to season the lie with the truth, “I learned—”

“What did you learn?” Anna asks quickly, suspicious. “You don’t learn things. You walk into a room and know things and boss people around.”

For that, Elsa gives her another _look_ , and she senses that Bruni and sunglasses-wearing Gale do the same. “Thin ice, sis.”

Anna laughs at the simultaneous reaction. “What?! It’s a good thing! Like a queen!”

“I learned,” Elsa begins, continuing to give her look to Anna, although she fails to hide a grin, “that these little friends of ours—”

“Yours, they don’t listen to me at all.”

“Don’t like motorcycles.”

Anna pauses. She glances all around the room, unseeing, slowly letting the words sink in. “Are you telling me… you spent an entire afternoon… without element-y interruption?”

“Mhmm!” Elsa hums, lightly petting Bruni as he scampers down to her shoulder.

“You had a break, for multiple hours? Multiple hours, like one after another?” Anna asks, excitement growing on her face and walking closer.

“The whole day, they stayed home.”

“They stayed home!” Anna shouts, jumping with joy. “Y-you got a real break!” Looking a little guiltily at Gale’s sunglasses and Bruni, she grimaces. “I mean you’re great, you’re both great, but let the woman have some privacy!”

Gale seems to nod guiltily while Bruni stares up at them both, not understanding a word. To Elsa’s relief, Anna goes on to completely forget about the details concerning the motorcycle, and the woman who drove it, her good mood distracting her sufficiently.

**Honeymaren**

“So… it was _not_ a date?” Ryder asks through another mouthful of cookies.

“I don’t know!” Honeymaren exclaims. Her voice turns into a drawn-out groan, her hands flying to hide her face as she sprawls on her couch. “Yesterday… It was so impromptu and she seemed equal parts wanting and not wanting to be here! What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Are you sure? Because she kinda invited you over, then invited herself over here. That’s what it sounds like.”

“I do not know! Did you get a vibe from her at _Kaffeost_ the other day?”

Ryder bites into his fifth cookie, thinking.

“You know I made you an actual dinner?” Honeymaren reminds him. If such a thing as a sarcastic smirk exists, she’s mastered it.

Through his once again full mouth, Ryder says, “But you also made cookies.”

“Then give me your dinner, I’ll eat it tomorrow.”

“What? No!” he says, grabbing his plate stacked high with Honeymaren’s special barbecue venison sandwich and every side imaginable: frybread (a necessity), mac n’ cheese, roasted vegetables, grilled corn on the cob. A cloudberry pie cools by the open window beside them. Sunday night dinners are their thing. “Don’t take my food! My brain needs feeding.”

“Your brain needs to help me,” Honeymaren whines, peeking out between her fingers.

“Aw, you really like her?” Ryder taunts her through his deceptively sweet grin.

Honeymaren nods.

He leans in closer, asks, “You wanna U-haul and marry her?”

“Shut up,” Honeymaren says, hiding again. Then, revealing one eye that glowers at her little brother, she admits, “A little bit, yes. I’m not going to! I am just admitting that the feelings are present. I know better!”

“But you don’t know for sure that she’s gay,” Ryder repeats.

“Must you say it out loud?”

“I’m used to you having perfect gaydar,” he shrugs, finally turning to his non-cookie food. “Forgive me for being confused.”

“Forgive _me_ for being confused.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> headcanon: If you give Gale enough clothes, she'll totally play pretend to make fun of humans. 
> 
> Things are gonna speed tf up next week, hold out with me!  
> A touch scary, perfect for halloween, ye?  
> You can handle it!


	8. Talk It Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple Notes:  
> (a) this fic is a gift and the rule for the gift is 100% fluff, so (in case it isn't clear) we're starting a couple weeks after the previous chapter and referencing something slightly not fluffy that transpired in that time. I did NOT break the rule! (The not fluffy is so small, don't worry)  
> (b) rated T for conversation topics  
> (c) I know some folks read Elsa as ace (a large umbrella term itself!) and/or demi. As I've noted before there will be explicit content in this fic - eventually. For y'all who want to skip any and all even mildly sexual stuff (including make outs), your cue to skip/return to reading is three stars at the left margin like so:  
> ***  
> (: I'll post a reminder from here on out as is relevant

⚾️

**Chapter 8: Talk It Out**

**Honeymaren**

After last week’s fiasco, when Ryder _did_ show up unannounced despite previous assurances, Honeymaren arrives at Elsa’s house already nervous. Still, the image of her brother’s face—beaming at Elsa as he walked in the door, leaving the poor woman flinching for the rest of their ‘baking lesson’—plays in her mind’s eye. (At least he knocked instead of letting himself in. But, thanks to Ryder, it decidedly was _not_ a date.) It plays again. And again. And again…

Prior to last week’s unfortunate lesson, Elsa had visited the coffee shop both with and without her sister multiple times. Always walking in with the air of the confident, sexy lawyer Elsa will surely become after getting her degree and passing the Bar exam. However, she didn’t come by _Kaffeost_ this past week at all, even when that Anna girl did come in, sometimes to purchase _two_ cups of coffee.

Part of Honeymaren frets that Elsa won’t even answer the door now that she’s arrived outside her house.

She’s made up her own mind though. Relieving her loose hair of her helmet, Honeymaren quietly talks to herself, “You are going to go to the door, and she will answer, and you will ask her honestly, what kind of… thing…” Taking another shaky breath, blinking rapidly, she bounces on her toes. “What she expects from these lessons. Because you happen to be gay." Deflating, Honeymaren's fingers start fretting at each other too, reminding her to remove her gloves. "And you want to be sure that… things are… what they seem. Or not. Yeah.”

Just in case, Honeymaren wiggles out of her armored pants and lays them on her motorcycle beside both helmets, along with her gloves, hoping Elsa will be leaving with her again today. And if not, she will be okay. Taking a deep breath, fixing her face with some good old Nattura determination, Honeymaren marches up the front steps, across the small front porch, and knocks on the door. She hears a thump, then some shushing, followed by quick footsteps. The door opens to Elsa, smiling in a dark turtleneck and faded jeans cuffed at the ankles and cute little snowflake earrings.

Honeymaren gulps. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Elsa smiles brilliantly, steps outside and is already locking the door. “Ready to go?”

“Uhh…” Honeymaren stares at her, confused but happy and also trying to mask her face quickly. “I mean yeah, if you’re… ready?”

“I am,” Elsa says, as though she’s excited, already passing her by. “My internship was a _nightmare_ this week! I’m so ready to be finished with it.” As Honeymaren’s brain tries to catch up with her body, she finds herself walking down the stairs behind Elsa, smiling back at her, while her brain exists in a bubble of static. She finally catches up with herself as they both step beside the Triumph.

“Elsa,” Honeymaren says at last, while Elsa shimmies into the armored pants.

“Honeymaren,” she replies as she cinches the pants, comfortable.

_At least one of us is comfortable,_ Honeymaren thinks. She places a hand on Elsa’s, stopping her from reaching for the second motorcycle helmet. A small but noticeable wave of fear crosses Elsa’s face, and Honeymaren quickly removes her hand, grinning a little to reassure her. “I want to ask you something.”

Nodding, Elsa mirrors her grin, but it doesn’t reassure. Rather, her perfectly ruby lips entice. Spiting her desire, Honeymaren focuses on Elsa’s eyes. Blue like a cool, clear day. Once she notices Honeymaren’s pause, Elsa’s brow falters. She encourages, “Go ahead.”

“I wanted to know,” Honeymaren says, glancing away because for once Elsa is not the one doing so. “That is, do you…” Her brain gives up on her. Again. She hadn’t planned how to ask this question if Elsa was as _cheerful_ and _fine_ as she clearly is. _Did I make it all up in my head?_ she wonders about the week. Then, more ominously, _Did I make all of this thing between us up?_ “Are you familiar with sports at all?” Honeymaren at last chokes out, bites her lip.

Blinking away her own confusion, Elsa suddenly looks tense. Opposite of the desired response. “I’m familiar. I can’t say I follow sports closely.”

“Um,” Honeymaren squeaks, hopes that retaking Elsa’s hand might help. She looks down at their hands, rubs her thumb over Elsa’s bare hand, treasuring the touch. Licking her lips, she continues, “Are you familiar with softball?” It’s a stretch at this point, but a woman can hope.

“Yes,” Elsa says. She repositions their handhold into something more akin to a business handshake. Smiling nonetheless, Elsa says, “I know what softball is.”

“Okay.” Nodding to herself, Honeymaren brings a fist to her mouth as she thinks. “Do you… what, um…”

“Yes?”

At last, Honeymaren sighs. “Which way do you swing?”

Silence. She squirms inside. In fact, Honeymaren finds it challenging to keep the squirming entirely on the inside the longer that silence goes on. But Elsa’s hand stays in her own as if frozen to her. Afraid but determined to both accept whatever comes next and enjoy this moment, Honeymaren runs her thumb over Elsa’s once more.

Elsa’s hand jerks. Honeymaren looks up. Elsa’s face looks stricken, tense, searching Honeymaren’s eyes, briefly mouthing, “Like right or left?” Her pulse races under the gaze of those two blue, rough seas. Her own mouth opens again, moves, trying to form excuses, but no words form.

“I’m gay, is that what you mean?”

“Oh!” Honeymaren exclaims, unconsciously taking Elsa’s hand in both of hers again. Then she lets go, but can’t refrain from smiling, laughing with relief. “Okay, good!”

“Good?” Elsa asks, takes a breath of relief herself. “Actually?”

“Yes,” Honeymaren chuckles, nervous energy spilling out of her. “I didn’t want there to be this unstated thing happening and um, I wanted to be honest with you.”

“Right.”

“So, I thought, since that is good news to hear,” Honeymaren says, already gleeful no matter what happens next. She runs a hand back through her hair, hoping it’s as windswept and sexy as she hoped when she left it unbraided today. With a little smirk, she allows herself a tiny peek at Elsa’s lips. “You should know, I really like you.”

Biting her lip, she watches Elsa’s face for her reaction. Her brow shoots up, certainly, but the timid smile that follows utterly delights. “Oh! Aren’t you brave?” Elsa says shakily, leaning away a little.

“How’s that?”

“I have wondered all the time whether…” Giggling to herself, Elsa takes a step and leans carefully against Honeymaren’s bike. “I never could have, that is I wanted to, but I didn’t, you beat me to asking…” She shakes her head at herself with the most bewitching smile. Finally, she shrugs at Honeymaren, cheeks reddening. “I like you, too.” They both giggle at each other, at themselves, at the way the world creates situations like these.

“Do you still want to bake today?” Honeymaren asks, smiling broadly.

“Sure,” Elsa says, nodding slowly. “But I’m open to other things.”

**Elsa**

Riding Honeymaren’s bike with her not, Elsa feel so much more than free. She seems to be taking the pair on a more scenic route today, so Elsa takes advantage of that time to explore a little. True, she remains alert to following Honeymaren’s instructions _not to lean_. Elsa’s happy to follow that rule, pressing herself closer against Honeymaren’s back than she ever has before and holding tight. Her hands roam around Honeymaren’s waist—nowhere untoward, merely letting herself touch places she had anxiously avoided touching before.

Even though they take longer to arrive at Honeymaren’s home, their ride ends too soon for Elsa. Instead of hanging back while Honeymaren parks in the garage, she follows along closely. When Honeymaren removes her helmet, her dark hair cascades down and she flips it over shoulder, fixing Elsa with a beautiful, earthquake gaze worthy of the movies. They both remove their respective protective gear, and they quietly watch each other without _too much_ timidity. As Honeymaren takes Elsa’s hand and leads her back outside, she quirks her brow at Elsa, suppressing a grin.

While replacing her helmet with a beanie, Honeymaren asks, “Does this mean we’ve been dating this whole time, or are we starting today?”

Elsa hums through a small smile, considering the question. “I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

Rolling her eyes, Elsa mutters, “On how gay each of us is.”

Honeymaren laughs, jogging up the stairs ahead of her. “It is a common W-L-W question, huh?”

“Quintessential,” Elsa agrees. Arriving at her door, Honeymaren takes Elsa’s hand again. For the briefest moment, Elsa feels a little panic hit her, feels her ice magic tingle from her fingertips to her chest. Then she remembers—she’s already been here, already been around Honeymaren safely. Even on her motorcycle! In other words, Elsa realizes that after a month of baking lessons and deliberate encounters near campus, she already trusts Honeymaren. The magic in her releases. To her surprise and delight, Elsa still gets to enjoy the pleasant shiver of the magic’s energy coursing through her body, without her ice powers tracking with it. No danger. And no need to tell all her secrets.

Honeymaren rounds on her once they enter, openly looking Elsa down and up, smiling with want first, and yet landing on Elsa’s face with tender eyes, dark like a full garden’s potential and… Vulnerable. A shiver runs through Elsa, tempting her forward. However, as she steps close enough to do what she wants to do, Honeymaren takes both of her hands in her own, rising them to her lips.

“So,” Honeymaren says between knuckle kisses, “a question I should ask before anything else…” She waits until Elsa nods, paying attention to her words. “In all seriousness, are we dating? What do you want, Elsa?”

Genuine fear, barely contained, crosses Elsa’s face. Immediately, she tries to slow down her wildly spinning thoughts.

Unexpectedly, perfectly, her host notices her distress not a second later. “Hey, it’s okay. If you’re not sure, that’s okay. Come here,” Honeymaren says, leading Elsa to the booth looking over the building’s back yard. “Do you want any coffee or tea or anything?” Honeymaren asks as she sits her down. Elsa shrugs, but Honeymaren’s already digging in her refrigerator. “I brought home some extra cold brew after work yesterday,” she says, pulling out a large jar. “Do you take cream or sugar or anything?”

Accepting the hospitality, Elsa shrugs again. “Just black, please.” Moments later, Honeymaren returns with two glasses of iced coffee—black for Elsa and doctored for herself, actively pouring a sweetener from another jar in. “What is that?”

“Maple syrup,” Honeymaren says with a wink. “Technically maple syrup-syrup—I cook it with water so it won’t congeal in cold drinks. Do the same with honey for iced tea.” She sits across from Elsa, huffing nervously. “Okay!”

“What do you want, Honeymaren?” Elsa asks.

“I asked first, snowflake.”

“W-what?” _Does she know?!_

“Your earrings?”

_Oh, right,_ she thinks, a hand rising to her earrings, an old gift from Anna. Elsa bites her lip, looks around, blushing. She reminds herself that Honeymaren is being very considerate and thoughtful by making them talk, putting a table between them despite her extremely obvious facial expression. Lifting her coffee to her lips, Elsa looks her over, thinking. “I think I would like to date.”

“Okay,” Honeymaren says, smiling broadly and nodding. “What’s that mean for you?”

“Damn you for making me think things through,” Elsa mutters. Honeymaren chuckles, almost snorting her coffee. Which is adorable and hilarious in itself. At least it buys Elsa time. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Honeymaren chokes. “Answer the question.”

Sighing but trusting, Elsa admits at last, “I honestly haven’t had much dating experience as an adult. My parents died when I was only eighteen. Between pursuing guardianship of my sister, actually raising her, going through a Bachelors program and now law school, figuring out how to manage our parents’ estate, getting her into college…” Mentally, she adds, _and learning that other creatures with powers like mine exist, don’t speak, and won’t leave me alone…_ Again, Elsa sighs down at her coffee cup.

“It’s incredible that you’ve done all that,” Honeymaren says gently. Elsa peeks up, smiling a little sadly at her encouraging look.

“Thank you.”

“What kind of things would you want to see in a dating partner?” Honeymaren proceeds.

“Things?” Elsa asks, darting her wide eyes down at Honeymaren’s chest—shirt! Dark green shirt! With a v-neck…

Leaning down over the table so her eyes meet Elsa’s where she was just looking, Honeymaren smirks, smug. “Qualities.”

“Ahm!” Elsa murmurs, thoroughly embarrassed at being caught ogling and thinking she couldn't even make ice with so much heat rising to her skin. “Qualities?”

“Mhmm!” Honeymaren hums, smirks, nods. Meanwhile she crosses her arms over her chest. “Qualities.”

Offering her a simmering glare while sipping her coffee, Elsa thinks to herself, _Joke’s on you, your arms are incredible_. Elsa does consider Honeymaren’s question, though, and wonders what she might need or desire in this new… enterprise. Then she feels a nudge to her crossed leg. Looking across the small table, Honeymaren raises her eyebrows at Elsa. “Impatient, hm?”

“No, I’m very patient.”

“That can go on the top of the list then,” Elsa says. “Patience.”

Honeymaren nods. “And?”

“Honesty,” Elsa says, chews the inside of her cheek. _I’m one to talk_ , she thinks, actively chilling her drink as its original ice melts.

“That’s a good one,” Honeymaren says with a smile.

“And…” Elsa starts, bites her lips, bracing herself. “Exclusivity.”

“Yeah,” Honeymaren nods, smiling far more gently. She scoots around the booth to sit closer to Elsa and lays a hand on the table. When Elsa doesn’t react right away, she sticks her pinky out and wiggles it. Elsa giggles, hooks her own pinky with Honeymaren’s. “Thank you, snowflake.”

“And what about you?” Elsa asks.

“First and foremost, in the interest of honesty, I have probably dated more recently than you have,” Honeymaren says seriously. Licking her lips, she nods toward her hallway, and Elsa glances down the hall to Honeymaren’s desk in the front room. “And I have test results from well after my last sexual encounter,” Honeymaren says. Elsa’s head whips back around. Although Honeymaren starts a little at the sudden movement, she smiles at Elsa nonetheless and continues, “You can see if you like, but I did not have anything to report at the time.”

“Oh.” _Extremely honest_.

“Plus, it’s been a while since then,” Honeymaren admits, glancing away, trains her eyes on their hands. “If those results were incorrect I think I’d know by now.” She sheepishly grins, then visibly winces at herself, “B-but I’m happy to use any, um, barriers or protection you might prefer!”

For a moment, Elsa remains silent, readying a devilish smirk of her own. “So," she says, fixes Honeymaren to the spot with a look. "A quality you enjoy is sex.”

Color drains from Honeymaren’s face immediately. Her pinky tightens around Elsa’s as she holds her other hand up as if in surrender, only succeeding in tangling herself up between her two arms. “No no no, I mean, that is, yes, I do like sex. But we don’t have to—certainly not right now! Or ever? I just meant to, uh, be honest but still, nothing is-is-is implied! I’m sorry!”

Elsa waits. When Honeymaren takes a breath, she takes her pinky back and taps it to the tip of Honeymaren’s nose. “You’re cute. And it’s a little implied.”

Shaking herself, Honeymaren puffs up, and Elsa enjoys seeing those arms again. “I am not cute!”

Seeing the arms move out of the way of the rest of the view is also nice. “A little bit.”

“No, you’re cute!” And with that, Honeymaren pulls her beanie down over her face.

“See, that’s cute,” Elsa says, giggling. “But it doesn’t answer my question.” She reaches over and rolls the beanie back up. Honeymaren rolls her eyes playfully.

“Okay, okay. You named good ones, good things—alas, do excuse me, _qualities_ ,” she says, delicately holding her hand out. “I can agree to each of them.”

“Even exclusivity?” Elsa asks dubiously, following that little speech of Honeymaren’s.

Her eyes bulge, askance, muttering, _“Especially_ that one.” Taking Elsa’s hand again, she continues, “Respect. And… kindness.” Elsa watches her tenderly as Honeymaren’s eyes lose focus, watching their hands, leaving Elsa wondering what—or who—made her look hurt like that.

Quietly Elsa says, “Of course.” She savors the small trail of heat that follows in the wake of Honeymaren’s finger, lightly caressing her palm, drawing patterns for what feels like minutes. When she retreats from Elsa’s grasp, runs her hands up and down her own thighs while glancing nervously at Elsa, she can’t help but feel sad over whoever might have hurt her.

“Still wanna bake cookies?” Honeymaren says, her big smile back. “Last week we changed up the eggs, did one whole egg and an egg yolk, right? Along with browned butter? I got us a mix of different kinds of chocolate chips for this batch of cookies, to give them some complexity.” She scoots back out of the booth. “That dry mix won’t know what hit it!”

Before she can get very far, Elsa takes Honeymaren’s hand. They lock eyes. It’s her turn to be brave. As Elsa stands, she pulls Honeymaren's arm, and walks backward toward the front room. Honeymaren slowly smiles, transfixed, glowing. An incredible thought in itself, Elsa can feel herself sink into a relaxed gaze, and Honeymaren returns it with something downright sultry. But Elsa forgets to pay attention, finds herself stumbling backward into that desk Honeymaren pointed out before. When she looks up again, finds Honeymaren standing about an inch away from pressing into her.

In a word, close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Healthy conversations setting general expectations are fluffy right? and I know for a fact I didn't grow up seeing them much in books or TV or movies - I'd love for that to change.
> 
> You'll notice we did not have *** this chapter, let me know if you felt a need for any warnings and I'll adjust accordingly going forward!
> 
> Keep each other safe <3


	9. Cookies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!
> 
> a reminder that *** exists to warn y'all who'd rather not read about physical displays of affection of sexual varieties  
> there's a fair amount of sexual attraction in this chapter, tbh, but *** exists here for the parts when characters act on it

🍪

**Chapter 9: Cookies**

**Elsa**

Chuckling as she puts her hands in her pockets, Honeymaren asks, “Did you lead me back here to fact-check my claims?”

“What?” Elsa takes a second to catch up mentally—after all, Honeymaren is distractingly close. _Fact-check… lying…?_ Honeymaren nods at the desk at Elsa’s backside. _Desk… fact-check her desk… Oh that’s it!_ Elsa shakes her head quickly, tucks her hair behind her ear, says, “No. I make a point of _not_ looking at others’ medical records without having permission in writing. I think I can trust you for now.”

Now Honeymaren takes a moment to catch up, her face blank.

“HIPAA,” Elsa says simply.

“Oh!” The brunettes hands visibly clench in her pockets, close enough that the denim of her jeans brushes against Elsa's hips as Honeymaren laughs off… what exactly, Elsa isn’t certain. “Right. Medical privacy… law school stuff?”

“More or less,” Elsa sighs. “I don’t want to talk about that right now,” she breathes.

Fidgeting hands calm. Elsa catches Honeymaren looking her over weakly, and the fire in that look intoxicates her. Honeymaren’s eyes could make her brave anything, anytime. She finds herself without her usual timidity in seconds. That said, Honeymaren gets the point for actually taking the first step.

Lifting her hand to rest first on Elsa’s shoulder, Honeymaren then inches sideways toward her turtleneck's collar, up to her cheek. Although she shivers a little at the heat of Honeymaren’s skin, Elsa smiles, leaning into her hand a little.

“What do you want to talk about then?” Honeymaren asks.

“I would like not to talk. Or, we can talk while we do something else.” Elsa ends by turning her lips to Honeymaren’s palm and lightly kissing it once. Glancing back at Honeymaren, she spots a pleasing blush creeping up her cheeks from the area revealed by that v-neck. Naturally, she kisses Honeymaren’s hand again. As long as Honeymaren looks at her like she might beg to adore Elsa at any second, she can be brave. 

“Come here,” Honeymaren says through a contagious grin. She gently holds Elsa’s face between her hands, eyes wandering to her lips. Instead of kissing her though, she starts to back away, gently pulling Elsa with her.

“Where are we going?”

“The best spot for doing something else.” They switch to holding hands as she leads them both out onto the balcony. Honeymaren flops, sits on the edge of her hammock. “Have a seat.”

Elsa obeys, leans back across its width like Honeymaren demonstrates. Laying shoulder to shoulder, Elsa cautiously interlaces her fingers with Honeymaren’s. In return, Honeymaren smiles, admires Elsa’s face. Yet _still_ she refrains, something tweaking the corners of her smile.

“What?” Elsa asks again, nudging Honeymaren with her elbow and giving her an uncertain glare.

Honeymaren sucks air in through her teeth smiling. When she looks into Elsa’s eyes again, she says, “I had the hardest time figuring out if you were gay.” She can’t contain a giggle and Elsa shoves her again.

“It can’t have been that difficult.”

“I brought up softball.”

“How was I supposed to know if _you_ were interested?” Elsa asks pointedly.

In return, Honeymaren gives her a most dismissive look, without even the slightest smile. “Elsa. Did you seriously not know?”

“Not necessarily!” Elsa insists unconvincingly.

“I was wearing flannel, a beanie, and Docs when you met me the first time,” Honeymaren reminds her, a smirk winning the battle over her attempted deadpan. “Then, I came over _to your house_ the moment you asked. And then asked _you_ over to _my_ place right after that.”

“Yeah,” Elsa admits to herself, barely louder than a whisper. Honeymaren giggles nonetheless, but she sounds giddy rather than entertained.

“What threw _me_ off every time was trying to figure out if you were out to your sister,” she continues. And that gathers Elsa’s attention. “I would try to leave space open for you to say something about it, and you always brought up your cake! I convinced myself that you weren’t out to her _and_ you weren’t gay!” Cursing herself, Elsa hides her face behind her hand. “No,” Honeymaren chuckles, pulling Elsa’s hand back down. “I like your face!”

“It’s embarrassing though, you have to admit.”

“If you say so,” Honeymaren shrugs. “So, does she?”

“Hm?”

“Are you out to your sister?”

“Oh, Anna… Anna…” Elsa pauses. Her eyes glaze over and she can tell distantly that Honeymaren is unsure of what might come out of Elsa’s mouth next. So is Elsa. As she glances back at Honeymaren’s eyes, suddenly fear rises in her. “I don’t know if she knows.”

“O-okay,” Honeymaren says. She’s not smiling, but she’s not frowning—the neutrality she sometimes wears is strangely comforting. “Have you ever told her?”

“I… don’t think so?” Elsa grimaces, pulling her lips between her teeth. Honeymaren’s eyebrows pull together with increasing concern. “There’s been so many other things to talk about and deal with!” she insists. The first night Earth, Wind, (water) And Fire showed up comes to mind as a particularly eventful and relevant example—so much shrieking from both sisters—but Elsa doesn’t share that information.

“And I believe you,” Honeymaren reassures her. She reaches out, placing her hand on Elsa’s cheek again, her fingertips reaching into her platinum hair, a most pleasing sensation. Elsa focuses on the touch, on her face, as Honeymaren assures her, “If you decide to tell her or remind her, or if not, I respect your decision.”

***

Once her words come out, Honeymaren’s face changes. Soft yet serious, she looks from Elsa’s eyes to her lips, her hand caressing its way around to the nape of her neck. Elsa takes a shuddering breath, appreciating distantly how slowly Honeymaren’s been today. Then again, Honeymaren’s hand moves down to Elsa’s knee and tugs, swivels them both into a lounging position in the hammock, lengthwise. Suddenly they’re so much closer, naturally interlacing their legs. Honeymaren’s cushy bicep supports Elsa’s neck and head, and her hand once again finds its resting place in Elsa’s hair. With such an obvious invitation, such a warm embrace everywhere else, and so much of a sensation of peace and safety as the hammock curls around them, Elsa at last closes the distance.

Soft lips quiver with the softest whimper escaping Honeymaren’s throat. Elsa’s heart thunders in her chest at the sound, so strong that she’s certain Honeymaren can feel it pulsing against her. A smile tugs at her, and Elsa feels Honeymaren return it. She pulls away, only to come back swiftly, and repeat it again. The breaks help Elsa lean into the kiss more and more, a steam building. Her hands finally get into the action, diving one into Honeymaren’s hair and the other wandering up to her cheek, around her shoulder, down her back to her ribs. And Honeymaren responds appreciatively to Elsa, taking deeper breaths to kiss her for longer, with increasing force.

When her hands reach Honeymaren’s waist, though, the brunette nips Elsa’s lip. She instantly, vocally crumbles, stirring an intense moan in Honeymaren’s throat. For the half a second that they separate after, they catch each other’s eyes—Elsa sees flames burning in Honeymaren's lustful eyes. She knows her eyes reflect that heat back, too. However, as she leans in, hungrily pulling on Honeymaren’s waist, she hears her name uttered: “Elsa.”

“What? What is it?” she asks, looking at Honeymaren’s fierce gaze again. A fear strikes—was she making her cold? Had she formed ice or snow or frost…?

Deliberate, determined, Honeymaren closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Once it’s released, she opens her eyes again, calmer. Which mildly irritates Elsa until she hears Honeymaren say, “Limits, boundaries. I…” She takes a beat, her eyelids flutter, and she swallows thickly. “I need to know what you _really_ want right now.”

Although a small (yet loud) part of Elsa's guts howl for Honeymaren to stop talking and take _care_ of her in every way, Elsa pauses. Reminds herself that she has secrets, potentially dangerous secrets if she’s not careful. “Maybe…” she starts, relaxing her grip, “I am very much enjoying this.”

“Yes, me too,” Honeymaren agrees quickly when Elsa struggles with words again. She pushes her forehead against Elsa’s, a little too enthusiastically, making them both wince and giggle.

“This is good,” Elsa says, nodding. “Just this type of stuff for now.”

“Making out,” Honeymaren affirms more clearly.

“Yes, that.” She pauses, adds, “Stay above the belt.” Elsa licks her lips, already grumpy with her own rule while knowing she does not _actually_ want to jump in too deep too quickly. Not for the first time, not by a long shot. Actually, Honeymaren's immediate nod to her naming this line aloud fills her with an unexpected sense of safety. She'll need that, she realizes, if she's really going to date this woman. Elsa internally thanks whatever force makes her elemental friends scared of motorcycles—if they were around, this would be _much_ more complicated. “Maybe we should make those cookies now.”

"In a minute," Honeymaren whispers, her lips glancing across Elsa's, kissing her again with enough well-behaved fire to satisfy.

***

**Honeymaren**

Elsa leans over Honeymaren’s shoulder—heavily. She holds her arm out against Elsa, who presses far too close for comfort while she opens the oven door with a towel in her other hand.

“The pan is hot, Elsa.”

“I am aware.”

“And I’m trying to _remove_ it,” Honeymaren says, repressing a giggle to her best ability. The childlike excitement for cookies, while concerning, admittedly is also cute. (As long as the woman she is now officially dating does not get burned on Honeymaren's watch.)

“And _I_ would like to try the cookies we made.”

Still, Honeymaren braces against Elsa so she can safely pull the cookie-laden sheet pan out of the oven. Taking a wide stance and pushing forcefully back with her hips, she succeeds (but not without resistance from Elsa). She puts the pan on the stove-top, closes the oven door, finally stands up, and realizes a brand-new heat: Elsa’s arms wrap tight around her stomach to holds her flush against her.

_Oh God, boobs, boobs, chest, hips—panicking!_

The arms squeeze Honeymaren a little as Elsa nuzzles her face against her ear. Honeymaren, for her part, tries to breathe with limited success. When she feels Elsa’s oddly cool breath on her neck, finally she inhales, albeit sharply.

“I want…” Elsa whispers just behind her ear, “… a cookie, please.”

Honeymaren turns her head sharply, brow furrowed but grinning. “Let go of me!” Elsa giggles as Honeymaren wriggles her way out of her grip. Whirling around with a smirk, Honeymaren lightly whacks Elsa with the hand towel.

Huffing, Elsa fixes her with a disapproving pout, lifting her brow menacingly. For a split second, Honeymaren genuinely worries that she’s done something wrong. Then Elsa says, “You are between me and chocolate. This is unacceptable.”

“It’s still too hot!” Honeymaren insists. She crosses her arms in front of her, channeling her toughest self—that of a professional chef surrounded by men. It’s hard to present that persona against Elsa of all people, but that’s the game Elsa’s apparently playing, channeling lawyer-graduate-degree-person. “Absolutely not.”

Elsa takes two slow steps toward Honeymaren. She in turn steps backward until she’s up against the oven itself. Unable to put her hands down on the counter—since the ‘counter’ is in fact the stove, topped with two hot trays of cookies—Honeymaren fidgets a moment, uncertain how to not put her hands on Elsa’s body. Specifically her hips, decidedly below the belt. Finally, she presses her hands to either side at face-level, against the sides of the cupboards. Closer Elsa steps, and again Honeymaren’s brain fries at the sudden pressure of their bodies touching. Hands land on Honeymaren’s waist, travel up her ribs, testing her.

 _Holy shit!_ Honeymaren thinks, trying to remember why she isn’t engaging fully in whatever Elsa’s up to. _Above the belt,_ she reminds herself, about to respond when she catches movement out the corner of her eye. “Wha—?”

From under her arm, Elsa pulls back with a chocolate-chip cookie in hand, grinning.

“You did not!”

“I-I just did,” Elsa smirks, and Honeymaren melts at her stutter, like she didn’t know if her ruse would work when she tried it.

Wrapping her hand lightly around Elsa’s wrist, she tightens her lips into a grimace, mostly to keep from smiling at the woman transformed by cookies into a childish brat. “Give that back.”

“No.” Elsa pulls her wrist away easily and takes a bite. To Honeymaren’s surprise, she doesn’t wince at all despite the cookie being hot enough for her to see chocolate melting within, steam rising. Actually, it strikes Honeymaren as peculiar that Elsa could have picked up a cookie bare-handed, without a spatula, and yet without touching the pan at all. She should have definitely burned herself a little. Maybe an experienced chef with loads of burns under their belt could do that but…

Registering her pause, Elsa shrugs guiltily, looks a little frightened even. “I’m full of tricks,” she says after swallowing her bite.

Letting it go, Honeymaren asks, “How is it?”

_“Delicious!”_

“Is it as good as the cake we made?”

The question gives Elsa pause, and she looks down at the cookie seriously. She steps back, giving Honeymaren room to stand at ease, thoughtful. “I think… no.”

 _Look at you developing your palate!_ Honeymaren thinks, trying to hide her glee by crossing her arms. “Ready to graduate to scratch cookies next week? Move on to cakes?”

“That depends,” Elsa says thoughtfully, takes another, smaller bite.

“On what?” Honeymaren asks, closing the space between them again to hold Elsa’s free hand, enjoying the electricity of even an innocent touch. “Do you need some space with Anna?”

“Hm, no. Actually, yes, but that wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Honeymaren waits, feeling herself smile as Elsa peeks up at her. _So pretty._

“Is it a date?”

“Ah,” she breathes, taking her own turn to grin seductively and enjoy the sight of Elsa biting her lip. Leaning forward, Honeymaren takes a bite of the cookie in Elsa’s hand and watches her reaction. As she hoped, Elsa’s face blooms pink. She licks her lips last and says, “No.”

Elsa’s brow furrows, thrown off.

“Unless,” Honeymaren continues. “What would you say to going out for brunch beforehand? As a real date?”

Blinking rapidly, Elsa at last nods, quietly says, “That sounds nice.”

Humming with delight, Honeymaren leans forward to kiss her again. She can taste chocolate on Elsa’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the ***, for plot points, Elsa and Honeymaren make out, but at Honeymaren's behest, Elsa names her boundary as 'above the belt' (hence Elsa's teasing after the *** since she knows Honeymaren will respect that explicit boundary)


	10. Brunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost warnings: Alcohol is consumed near the end of this chapter; language is adult. You will see a *** in this chapter, but it's just a page break.
> 
> We survived last week, yay!  
> Now, in the US, don't let you or your loved ones get complacent - we have no reason to think this walking hotdog will play by the rules now when he never has before (and will likely be charged with a LOT of crimes if/when he leaves office). Moving on from my personal opinions...
> 
> Holy Mackerel! We're well past halfway done!
> 
> But... I might be adding more material to a chapter coming up in the next couple weeks. Originally I skipped over a thing that I figured wouldn't be very interesting to anybody, but based on the commentary, I'm maybe wrong there. I dunno, we'll see.

🥂

**Chapter 10: Brunch**

**Honeymaren**

Checking her phone, Honeymaren pokes at the weather prediction. “Hmm…” She decides against taking her motorcycle to meet Elsa at the restaurant. Chance of alcohol was already making her lean against it, but combined with a chance of rain? Not a chance. Then the phone vibrates, showing her a new text banner.

**Elsa** ❄️ **:** Can you send me the address again? I can’t find it in our chat

Honeymaren grins to herself—that’s easy to believe. They’ve texted back and forth all week, even though Elsa’s made a point of dropping by _Kaffeost_ four out of the five weekdays, with or without Anna in tow. Or maybe Anna had Elsa in tow, or perhaps that’s what Elsa wants her sister to think. In any case, she is pleased.

**Honeymaren** **🍯** **:** It’s Lola’s, here’s the address…

She’s thrilled, boogeying in her pajamas around her small kitchen. Who knew in a little more than a month she could have a REAL date with someone as pretty and intelligent and _surprisingly minxy_ yet shy and sweet and geeky as Elsa?

Letting her phone’s dance mix play as raucously as she likes, Honeymaren bounces around her apartment. She pulls out flour, the baking _soda,_ two kinds of sugar and three kinds of chocolate chips, an assortment of nuts for Elsa to pick from, mixing bowls, baking sheets, and of course, a pan for browning the butter. All things that can be set up ahead of time for Elsa's last “cookie lesson,” after their date. Which, she is convinced, is going to go absolutely perfectly.

Next, to her bedroom! Armed with a terrible question: What to wear?

**Elsa**

Standing in front of her bedroom mirror, Elsa examines herself crossly, when her door opens with a bang, but without a knock or announcement. She turns, already surly, but finds Anna in her doorway _as well as_ the little rock critter that she expected—the earth’s toddler-sized emissary that likes to appear unannounced in the basement. They both yawn, holding hands. Hands being a generous description for the earth...ling.

“Can I help you two?”

“Can you?” Anna asks. She motions toward Elsa, her oversized pajamas and messy hair testing Elsa’s ability to keep a straight face. Watching Anna, the rock-toddler mimics her body language. “What are you doing awake? At this hour?”

“Getting dressed. And you?”

“Why are you getting dressed so early on a Saturday? And…” Anna blinks a few times, strains her eyes, then resorts to using her fingers to physically hold her eyes open. The rock-toddler impersonates her again. “Why do you look so nice?”

Elsa raises an eyebrow at her sister’s rudeness. “Excuse you?”

Waking up more at her tone, Anna balks. “Sorry!” she says, puffing her cheeks out. “I… am just confused…”

“About me looking nice?”

“No!” Anna says at first, but stands there immobile, unable to think quickly enough to produce more words.

“I should think I look nice every day, Anna,” Elsa says, toying a little seeing as she’s already had a cup of coffee.

“You do! You look _beautiful!”_ Anna says, trying to suppress a yawn. “You just look beautiful- _er_ than usual for this early on a Saturday.”

“Hmm,” Elsa hums, allowing herself a smile. “Some of us are capable of getting up early whether we have class or not.”

“Yes,” Anna admits, walking into Elsa’s bedroom. She fiddles with Elsa's platinum braid and leans against her, looking at their reflections in the mirror. “But this is different.”

“Explain.”

Anna does not explain. Not right away. Rather she scrutinizes her sister’s reflection. Elsa looks back at Anna in the mirror, effortlessly beautiful in her own way. She’s grown up so much over the last six years, and she’s loved Elsa through thick and thin. Even when she finally did find out about Elsa’s powers—there was no hiding it after their parents’ passing—or when these mysterious elemental beings showed up and started stalking Elsa.

“It’s just…” Anna starts, oblivious to Elsa’s gratitude and love. “Your blouse is… not black.”

“Warmer weather, sister.”

“That’s not it,” she groans dismissively, holds her head, thinking.

“I made coffee, Anna, you can go have some.” Elsa considers herself in the mirror. Purple. It’s a bold color for her. Well… Lavender, shoulderless blouse. More to herself, she says, “Maybe I should switch…”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Anna says through another yawn. “Because I don’t know where you’re going.”

“Coffee is available,” Elsa reminds her. “You’ll surely want some before your midterms study group today, hm?”

Making a face at her, Anna throws an arm around Elsa’s shoulder and leans her head down on her shoulder, groans. “I wanna know!”

“Then study law.”

“Aigh! I do not believe _THIS_ —” Anna motions up and down at her sister’s outfit (as does the rock-toddler)—“is law school related!” Anna throws her arms up in the air with a shout and walks toward the door, almost tripping over their tiny friend. When she opens the door, a tiny watery horse and a salamander covered in flames run to Elsa, both climbing up to her shoulders. Sighing at the two of them, Anna grumbles, “Looks like some faucet in the house is leaking.”

Giggling, Elsa snorts at Nokk and Bruni, frosting the former and chilling the latter. “What do you two think?”

“Aw come on!” Anna moans, leaning in the doorway. “You wanna ask them and not me? They can't even talk!”

“I did ask you.”

Big, watery eyes and the tiniest, purest pout reply.

“Fine, you too!” Elsa allows, walks over to her beloved little sister and rests her hand on her shoulder. The redhead giggles, Elsa’s favorite sound. “What do you think? And be quick, I need to leave soon.” _Honeymaren will be waiting…_ She could tell Anna the truth. Tell her it’s a date. Tell her she’s not straight. Tell her what’s going on. Tell her the risk she’s taken. Taking.

If she does though, she’ll know about the cake. And it’s for her _birthday_ … Anna _deserves_ a good, solid birthday.

Letting her head lean gently against Elsa’s, breathing deep, Anna says, “You’re already beautiful-er and you want to be beautiful-est?”

“Yes.”

***

Hair down for once in her life and Anna’s black bowler hat perched atop her head, Elsa feels uncomfortable in her rideshare. No, not uncomfortable—tentative, uncertain. At least she didn’t drive herself, since Honeymaren will probably take them back to her place after brunch. On her motorcycle. To bake cookies. Just cookies. The car stops gently outside the address Honeymaren sent her. Even as she’s exiting the car and opening her app to tip the driver, she’s interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Elsa!”

Looking up immediately, Honeymaren’s beaming face meets her, brown eyes alight like amber in the sunshine. Before she can stop herself, Elsa looks her down and back up again, taking in the fast approaching brunette: Shiny brown shoes, khaki chinos, dark green button-up under a plum blazer. Even a pocket square. And her hair’s up in an intricate bun, dark brown tendrils spilling out on either side of her bangs.

_Fffffuck._

“Mm, Honeymaren,” Elsa manages to quietly gasp before perfectly calloused, gentle hands take her own.

A soft kiss presses up against the corner of her lips. Before Elsa’s brain can catch up, those lips are gone, and Honeymaren gives her an excited—and exciting—look. “You have perfect timing, our table’s ready.”

Something about how Honeymaren moves sends a shiver through Elsa’s body, leading her to the conclusion that two cups of coffee prior to this date might have been a bad idea. As her extremely attractive date leads Elsa through the busy patio to a host within the building, she wonders affectionately, _How did we both wear purple?_

Led through a busy crowd by said host, however, Elsa’s nerves momentarily get the better of her. There are a LOT of people here, servers and assistants and food runners weaving through the crowd. With baked feta, eggy skillets, beignets, pens and paper, bottles of wine and trays full of cocktails in hands, those working have such intense focus that Elsa picks up on it immediately. Hopefully it’s enough hubbub to keep her friendly, elemental stalkers away, but she too is not much a fan of hubbub herself.

“Here we are,” the host announces, and Elsa returns her focus forward. A small table sits in a bay window of the restaurant, slightly separated from the clamor of other diners around them. Only the one table fits, promising Elsa plenty of elbow room as well as sunlight. She glances at Honeymaren, struck by the impossibility that they could have this particular table.

Catching her glance, Honeymaren smiles sweetly. With a shrug, she says, “I know the head chef.”

“This place is really popular,” Elsa whispers to her as the host smiles, pulling their chairs out for them. “How did you—?”

“We _all_ know Nattura,” the host answers, laying the menus down for her guests. To the woman in question, the host offers a soft jab to the shoulder, followed by a wink for Elsa. “She used to work here as our Executive Sous Chef. Besides, it’s in this industry’s _best interest_ to keep this up-and-coming chef _very happy.”_ When she finally walks away, Elsa gives Honeymaren a curious look.

“What did she mean by that?”

She shrugs. “Supposedly I’m a big deal,” she says sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “At least among brunch circles.”

Elsa picks up her menu but doesn’t bother looking. “How does that work?”

Biting her lip and blushing a little, Honeymaren picks up her menu, also not reading it but hiding behind it a little anyway. “Because,” she says sheepishly, suddenly intrigued by the ceiling, the napkins, and the cutlery. “The Tribune’s food editor maybe interviewed me about six weeks ago, and the article might be coming out soon?”

“That sounds like a big deal!”

“Maybe,” Honeymaren chuckles. “But that’s not the point today,” she says as she looks Elsa up and down, bites her lip.

Blushing from her chest to her face, Elsa momentarily regrets the shoulderless blouse, even though Honeymaren clearly does not. “What is today’s point, pray tell?”

Right as Honeymaren’s about to say more, a Black woman in a chef’s coat with beautiful finger-coils steps up beside her, smiling at Elsa. Seeing Elsa’s expression, Honeymaren turns to see and shoots to her feet. She and the stranger shout happily, hugging each other. Uncertain of what else to do, Elsa stands as well, waiting for the two women to stop shout-talking to each other with so much enthusiasm that she can’t keep track of how many things they’re discussing at once.

Thankfully, the stranger with rolled up sleeves and a stained apron turns to her and says, “I take it you are Nattura’s excuse to come see me. I gotta thank you!”

“Not an excuse!” Honeymaren groans, shoving her friend but nevertheless smiling sheepishly Elsa’s way.

In any case, Elsa offers her hand. “Perhaps I am,” she says. “I’m Elsa.”

“Timmy,” the chef says in return, accepting the handshake.

“Not Lola?”

Chuckling a little, Timmy says, “No, no, that was my grandmother. Technically I’m Fatima, but don’t tell my mom.” A moment later, she glances Honeymaren’s way. “Ms. Elsa, you are very pretty—are you being good to my dear friend here?”

“I… um, yes?”

“First date, Timmy!” Honeymaren complains through her teeth.

“And you bring her to this dump?” Timmy teases.

“This is _not_ a dump,” Elsa asserts, despite crossing her arms delicately—defensively—in front of herself.

Smirking, Timmy says, “And I seriously doubt this is the first date.”

“It smells wonderful in here,” Elsa says, wonders if complimenting smells might be distracting enough, or if it’s strange to do.

“Oh, you’re sweet!” Timmy tells Elsa, literally clutching her apron at the heart. Then she continues by asking, “What are you two having?”

“We haven’t gotten that far yet,” Honeymaren answers, glancing at Elsa. Now that she’s looking, Elsa can see Honeymaren looking between her and Timmy frequently. Normally Honeymaren seems so calm and collected, it comes as a surprise to realize that she must be anxious for her friend and her ‘date’ to get along.

“In that case, _Elsa,_ ” Timmy says, fixing her with eyes even darker than Honeymaren’s, “Skip the pastries. Honeymaren’s are way better, and that is not a knock to my pastry chef. He’s great but at the end of the day men can’t cook without complaining.”

Honeymaren feigns insult on behalf of Timmy’s anonymous pastry chef, but Elsa lifts a hand to her mouth to cover her giggle. “What should we get?”

“Leave that to me,” Timmy says with self-satisfaction, winking at them both. To Elsa, she adds, “You don’t have any dietary restrictions, right? If I send something with dairy, you won’t die, right?”

Elsa shakes her head no.

“And to drink?”

“Uhhh—!” Honeymaren starts, wide-eyed.

“I just found out about some kind of interview,” Elsa says, allowing the chef’s contagious energy infect her. They’re eyes meet playfully, glancing simultaneously at Honeymaren. “Perhaps we should celebrate a little.”

“Perfect.” Timmy turns to Honeymaren fully, smiling. She looks Elsa’s gorgeous date up and down, wiggling her eyebrows at her with a feigned glare. 

“Fine!” Honeymaren concedes. “I’ll have a Bloody.”

“What kind?” Timmy asks. Then she adds deviously, “George is service well this morning.”

“Bloody Maria,” Honeymaren sighs. Wincing in Elsa’s direction, she mutters, “Never vodka, please.” Then Timmy darts off toward the bar in the next room, leaving Honeymaren surprised in her wake. “Tell him to go easy on me!” she calls after her.

**Honeymaren**

Taking a quick sip of her cocktail, Honeymaren tries not to wince—it’s very good, of course, but George did _not_ go easy on the tequila as requested. _Good thing I didn’t drive._

“Now hold on,” Elsa admonishes her, lifting her mimosa to Honeymaren. They clink glasses, and Elsa toasts, “To being a big deal.”

Blushing for the fifty-hundredth time in mere minutes, Honeymaren rolls her eyes. “I’m really not. You on the other hand…” She takes another sip of her cocktail while admiring the elegant curve of Elsa's neck to her bare shoulders. Immediately, she licks her lips of mix of salt and spice held to the rim of the glass with lime juice, recognizes the spice blend she helped create while she worked here at Lola's. Delicious as always, even if Honeymaren can taste that they got the ratios a bit off when making the house bloody mix.

Elsa smirks as they drink. “Oh wow,” she comments, “That’s really good!”

“They are probably going to spoil us a little.” Setting her own drink aside, she reaches her hand across the table, bites her lip when Elsa softly wraps her hand around it.

Honeymaren watches their hands and—glancing occasionally up at Elsa’s face—she awaits Elsa’s questions about her ‘big deal’ interview. Up until this moment, she didn’t know she wanted to see Elsa with her hair down. Or wearing a cute hat. Or with bare shoulders glowing in the sunlight streaming through the window, making her freckles stick out. _Her shoulders have freckles!_

"You're a big deal in brunch circles specifically?"

Rolling her eyes, Honeymaren masks her blush by downplaying things. "It's _not_ a big deal, honestly."

Elsa merely lifts her brow, purses her lips in response.

_Just be honest,_ Honeymaren admonishes herself. Sucking air in through her teeth, she starts lightly rubbing her thumb over Elsa's hand. The touch reassures her. "I didn't go to culinary school for pastry. Breads, I mean. I studied savory, went that route, wound up here with Timmy." Chuckling, feeling herself blush more, she continues, "We hit it off as colleagues, called ourselves the Brown Babes Squad. But we didn't have a pastry expert and were getting a lot of demand for brunch service."

Even with the broad strokes, Honeymaren feels nervous. But why? She's proud of her work, proud of how far she's come, proud of this place, and normally, Honeymaren would happily gloat because she and Timmy deserve the praise. It's not easy to run a place like this, much less get to this point at all as a Black woman from Trinidad and an Indigenous woman of two separate continents. Yet she can't meet Elsa's eyes because she doesn't want to worry if any of this triumph would seem to really matter to a soon-to-be lawyer. Surely the average lawyer makes about as much money as this whole staff makes in a year, so how big of a deal can it be? Don't lawyers do it for the money?

_Does any other lawyer ever tip ninety-something dollars on a five buck purchase, though?_

No. Elsa... she gets it. Maybe that's what's actually scary. Tapping her finger nervously against Elsa's wrist, Honeymaren explains, "Anyway, long story short, I took it really seriously, started to explore food I grew up with. I mean, with my family. That frybread my grandma here made us, the coffee and 'bread-cheese' my other 'Granny Yelena' insists on once a day. And we got some awards and stuff, so eventually I decided to do my own thing. They took my stuff off their menu here and I make it at Kaffeost now. Just starting with the basics for now, and I'll add in savory when uh—” Elsa squeezes her hand, and it stops her mouth in its tracks. Then something else catches Honeymaren's attention.

Although she suspected her many friends at Lola’s would treat her and Elsa with _excessive_ hospitality, Honeymaren balks as two servers arrive with armloads of food. Before they start spieling it all, she asks, “Whoa, whoa, are you sure this is _all_ for us?”

Tall and refined with perfectly winged eyeliner he could never get Honeymaren to learn no matter how hard they tried, Osiris replies, “Timmy said, and I quote, ‘A little bit of everything,’ so here is half the menu." Behind him, Jenna snickers, awaiting Osiris's inevitable final line. "You're welcome, Nattura.”

Eyes wide, Elsa whispers, “My God.” Louder, she adds, “Th-this looks amazing.” Food is carefully placed across the table, and Honeymaren doesn't listen to a word of explanation, instead focusing on How. Hard. Elsa. Is. Concentrating. on each dish's description. Once the servers depart, the women exchange glances. Elsa asks, “Are we really going to eat all of this?”

“Just try a bite of everything, and we can take the rest home,” Honeymaren laughs. Then she realizes that Elsa’s cocktail has refilled itself somehow. Did Osiris do that? Jenna? Furrowing her brow in confusion, she glances up to Elsa’s face: Contemplating where to begin, aiming her fork. She’s blushing a little, but not the way Honeymaren’s seen before. And she seems to be wobbling slightly in her seat. “Oh shit,” she whispers under her breath, comprehending then that Lola’s staff is treating her 'date' to a _bottomless_ mimosa—and if she commented on it being good, they are using the fancier prosecco. The one Timmy, the bar director, and she would berate chefs and bar staff for using in their prosecco whipped cream. The more expensive prosecco that has a higher ABV.

By the look of things, Elsa cannot hold her alcohol very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timmy is based on a friend of mine. Osiris, too. George and Jenna, too. Actually most of my OCs in any stories I write are based on people I know. In fact, Honeymaren's baker-sona got quite a few features in common with a couple of my favorite chefs, but mainly the exec pastry chef at the restaurant where I worked pre-pandemic. And Lola's is based on a restaurant I loved that I did not work at. But anyway, Honeymaren's story here is loosely based on a couple chefs I know who've made that switch (from savory to pastry), but never as an executive sous. Basically, speaking restaurant lingo, I want Honeymaren to clearly be a big deal. She is a fucking catch, and I'm sure women like her exist while barely getting the attention they deserve (improving, but still). 
> 
> I miss restaurants. There's jerks in every job, of course, but most restaurant workers take pride in taking care of each other, and I miss getting to do that a lot.  
> Not enough to work a restaurant during a pandemic.  
> Support restaurants if you can, though. Order to-go.
> 
> Speaking of which: In the US, stay the fuck at home! Especially in the Midwest y'all, jfc! Where your mask and tell your friends!  
> Stay safe, protect each other!
> 
> PS I drew the lil rock critter and sometimes I look at it and just cackle.


	11. TBH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature for drunkenness  
> Also for length  
> I got a bit too into adding little details and now this chapter is two chapters - sorry in advance

🌪🔥⛰🌊

**Chapter 11: TBH**

**Honeymaren**

“Give it back! Please?”

“Absolutely not,” Honeymaren giggles, pulling Elsa’s bottomless mimosa away from her lunging hand. She herself has switched to bottomless _coffee_ and pushes her mug of steamy brew across to Elsa, in place of the cocktail. “Drink up.”

“But iss _SO_ good!” Elsa professes loudly, taking hold of Honeymaren’s hand before it can retreat from the coffee mug. The touch sends an unexpected chill, a shiver, through Honeymaren, making her bite her lip against the thrill of it. Watching her, Elsa giggles, then brings her hands to her face and gasps with a grin, registering the volume of her own voice with delay. “Oh no, I _am_ drunk!”

Smirking at her drunk date, Honeymaren twirls the wine glass a little. “Let’s check on that, shall we?” Taking a sip of the cocktail, her eyes grow wide with horror. Flinching away from the glass in her hand, she gasps, “Is there even any orange juice in this?!”

“Ooooh, oh no,” Elsa quietly sings, smiles, her head leaning heavily to one side, her face glowing from the alcohol. “Is it strong?”

“Very strong, Elsa!”

“Is that bad?”

Giggling again, Honeymaren nods, “It might be!” Elsa hiccups, making Honeymaren’s giggle grow into true laughter. She needs to change her plans for them today.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Elsa moans. “I didn’t mean to drunk!” Again, she hiccups.

“I know!” Honeymaren says, biting her lip to keep from laughing but smiling compassionately nonetheless. _You are_ _too cute though,_ she admits to herself. “My friends were too nice to you. I’m sorry, you’re just—”

“Just what?” Elsa asks. She gives her a look, and Honeymaren—lifting her hand over her mouth—tries even harder not to laugh. Because Elsa is definitely trying to be sexy right now. To be fair, before her mischievous industry friends gave Elsa _too much_ hospitality, she was weak in the knees.

Luckily, Jenna arrives with the large bag of their leftovers packed up to go, and Osiris arrives with the paid bill. “Gotta run,” he says, eyes on the crowd, “Just got triple sat and—”

“Just go, go! And thanks!” Honeymaren assures him with a nod, and off he goes. Peeking at the check, Honeymaren shakes her head at the discounts they added, writes a big tip on the card and leaves cash, too—enough so that even the polisher should leave with some bills.

Gathering everything up, Honeymaren stands and holds her hand out to help Elsa up. The blonde gazes tenderly at it, holds it in both of her hands and traces Honeymaren’s palm with soft fingertips.

“You’re really cute,” Honeymaren mutters, feels her heart catch at the sweet gesture.

“Do we have to go?” Elsa asks, standing. She wobbles a little, pauses. The look in her eyes tells Honeymaren that she now fully realizes the strength of her bottomless mimosa. Mimosas. God only knows how many.

“Yes,” Honeymaren says, watching her posture carefully. “We should take you straight home.”

“No, but cookies!” Elsa moans, letting herself be led out of the restaurant. Allowing herself a modicum of enjoyment (despite her own racing heartbeat), Honeymaren wraps her arm round behind Elsa’s shoulders. Better for bracing her, protecting her. To her surprise, Elsa's heels do not present an issue right away. However, the slight step at the front door does, and she quickly catches Elsa by her ribs.

“Cookies can wait,” she replies, already calling a rideshare.

“Can’t we stay longer?” Elsa complains nonetheless. As a stormy wind blows around them, Honeymaren glances up at the storm clouds that have rolled in. But then Elsa sidles up close to her date, wrapping her arms tight around Honeymaren’s waist and burying her face against her shoulder. “I can’t ride bike like this.”

“I didn’t bring my bike,” Honeymaren tells her softly, smiling. And blushing. Elsa’s so close, the hairs on the back of Honeymaren’s neck stand up. “It’s supposed to rain.”

Elsa mumbles something else against her shoulder, frowning a little, but their rideshare arrives, and Honeymaren eases her into the car, hands her the bag of food. Shortly after they buckle up (Honeymaren helping Elsa with her ‘confusing’ seat belt), they hear the low threat of thunder.

“Perfect timing,” she tells Elsa, winking. Honeymaren tries to contain an ‘Aww’ as Elsa scoots across the back seat, closer to her, lays her head on her shoulder. As she lifts her hand to Elsa’s cheek, the driver does _not_ contain an ‘Aww.’

Rain pitter patters first, then falls in earnest by the time that they arrive at Elsa’s house, drumming against the car roof. Honeymaren gets out, turns around just in time to see Elsa keen. “Plop!” Giggling as she falls over in the backseat, her head nearly lolls out the door.

“Oh my god, Elsa,” Honeymaren chuckles, leaning in to untangle her from the seat belts and grab their bag of leftovers. She mentally reminds herself to take her… _Girlfriend? Date… friend? Cookie something?_ … out some place where NO staff at any venue knows Honeymaren. As a do-over. It’s not fair that Timmy and crew assumed a tall woman would have a high tolerance like Honeymaren does. Ultimately, Elsa stumbles out of the car, tripping over the curb a little and giggling about it, stands and reaches back into the car seat for her hat.

The driver politely covers up a snicker. “Have a good day, you two!”

As they climb up to the front door, an alarm bell rings in Honeymaren’s head. She asks, “Elsa, is Anna home? Should I leave…?”

Humming in the negative, Elsa reaches into her purse. “Midterms times. Keys… Do you have my keys?”

“No,” Honeymaren says, her hand hovering behind one of Elsa’s shoulders. Just in case those heels cause trouble again. She gulps when Elsa hums happily in response to Honeymaren’s fingertips accidentally grazing over her bare skin as she sways.

Then Elsa sticks her face into her open purse. “Keys!” she shouts into it. “Where are you?!”

“Okay,” Honeymaren says loudly to herself, desire squashed and replaced by another chuckle. Pulling Elsa up to look at her, she asks, “Do you have a hidden spare?”

A twinkling sound echoes around them. Probably the windchimes Elsa’s mentioned before. “What?” Elsa asks.

“A spare key? For if you get locked out? Hidden somewhere?”

“Around the back!” Elsa says, jumping off the stoop and into the grass with surprising agility. She runs around the house—in heels, across wet grass.

“Wait up, Elsa!” Grabbing the food bag again, Honeymaren races after her, half-expecting to find Elsa fallen in the grass. She reaches the gate through the tall wooden fencing around the side-and-back-yard a moment before it latches shut, locking her out.

“Here!” Elsa says from the back porch when Honeymaren catches up, shielding herself from the rain. By the looks of her, Elsa did not shield herself much.

Climbing up to the covered porch, she frets, “Elsa! We gotta get you inside before you catch a cold!”

Dismissively waving her hand, Elsa responds, “I don’t get cold.” She struggles with the key she’s found, berating herself under her breath. Quietly, Honeymaren waits behind her, gazes around the yard and admires the rain now that she’s sheltered. Elsa leans over, looking intensely at the lock and trying to get the key in, when she wobbles dangerously.

“Elsa!” Honeymaren grabs her by the hips to steady her. She flinches, nearly lets go of Elsa as though she’d touched the blade of a knife—the ‘above the belt’ rule! It’s too much, feels too intense! Then, another wobble convinces her to keep her hands on Elsa’s hips for a moment longer. She forcefully looks away though—she can at least not ogle. Blindly, she reaches her hands up and away from Elsa's hips while looking at the roof overhead, but then her hands are on Elsa’s waist instead, and that doesn’t seem much better. Honeymaren removes her hands from Elsa, if only to pull on the collar of her shirt as embarrassed heat floods her body, but again Elsa's weight shifts and she finds herself catching her date. _I am gonna kill Timmy,_ she thinks, certain to sweat through her clothes at this rate. _Or Osiris. Or everybody, fuck, they’re all traitors!_

“Got it!” Elsa cheers as the door opens at last, seemingly oblivious. Turning to Honeymaren, she says, “Come on in!”

“Are you sure?” Honeymaren asks. “What if Anna comes home?”

Grinning, Elsa pats Honeymaren’s cheek. “I don’t care.”

_Yes, you do._

Following her in nonetheless, Honeymaren merely suggests, “I think you might care more than you think right now.” But at the rate she’s going, Elsa might take a nap in wet clothes, so Honeymaren tries to think of how she’ll prevent that on her way inside. As she locks the door behind them, Honeymaren observes that she actually hadn’t seen any windchimes outside the house. “Huh.”

Before she can question it, Elsa takes her by the hand and pulls her through the house. “All aboard!” Elsa giggles, stumbling onto the couch, her hat long gone, taking Honeymaren down with her.

“Els!” Honeymaren yips. She lands in a face full of Elsa’s stomach. Her blouse is wet. Blushing furiously as she pushes herself up, she catches Elsa watching her, eyes hooded and smiling deviously. “No!” she orders, points a strict finger to Elsa’s amused face and does her best to look tough. “You are drunk! We are _not_ making out.” Nonetheless, Elsa runs her fingers over her forearms as she tries to get up.

“Why not?” Elsa whines.

“I just said,” Honeymaren asserts, laughing a little as she shrugs out of her blazer, thereby escaping. “You are drunk. The only thing we are doing is sobering you up.” The disappointment on Elsa’s face is childish at best. Sighing, Honeymaren says, “But we can cuddle, okay? Once you have some water. And change clothes.”

“’Kay,” Elsa nods, smiling in triumph. Realizing Honeymaren’s blazer is in her hands, she pulls it close like a blanket.

Standing, Honeymaren says, “I’m gonna put our food in your fridge, I’ll be back with water.”

“Kiss, please!”

“Fine.” Honeymaren smiles softly and kisses Elsa’s forehead. “Now go change.”

“That doesn’t count!” Elsa calls as Honeymaren walks away.

Chuckling, she returns to the pristine kitchen and puts their bag of food into a sparse refrigerator. By the time she’s done—it was a lot of food after all—she glances back, right in time to see Elsa flop back onto the couch in a fresh sweater and leggings. Honeymaren turns to leave the room, but notices a wave of heat as she passes by the oven.

Honeymaren pauses. She looks closely at the appliance, her brow knit tight, checking to see if it’s on by mistake. It’s not, yet there’s no denying that the air feels hot around it. Frowning, she makes a mental note to mention it to Elsa. Then, walking away, toward the front room, movement outside a window at her side catches her eye. Glancing, Honeymaren double-takes and freezes to the spot.

**Elsa**

“Elsa…”

“Mhmm?” _I should wear my hair down more often,_ she thinks, playing with her hair on the couch.

“There’s… something outside,” Honeymaren calls. The tone of her voice catches Elsa’s attention. Adrenaline kicks in and immediately, the haze of alcohol wears off as ice hits her bloodstream. Sitting up abruptly, Elsa whips her head around. Honeymaren stands at the threshold to the kitchen, frozen, looking out the window, eyes wide like she’s seen a ghost.

“Honeymaren,” Elsa says quietly, urgently. “Tell me exactly what you see, but keep your eyes on it.” She hears Honeymaren groan slightly. “And do—not—move.”

Gulping, the gorgeous woman breathes fast, afraid. Honeymaren hisses softly, darkly to herself, “A Nokk.”

Elsa gasps to herself. “A what?!”

The word itself instigates her whole body. Suddenly Elsa’s up and running for Honeymaren—even as she says aloud, “It’s a water horse?”

Several things happen all at once:

Honeymaren shouts at the sight of the window bursting to pieces as, indeed, a water horse leaps in through it—likely possible due to that leak Anna mentioned earlier. At that same exact moment, Elsa tackles Honeymaren at a sprint, sending them both sprawling onto the kitchen floor and away from the glass. Even while they’re falling, Elsa recognizes Bruni’s presence at the oven, spurring the stovetop to sudden, terrifying, fiery purple life.

Water splashes loudly right behind them, thunder rumbles outside. As they crash to the floor, Elsa finds them both rolling unexpectedly; she understands somehow that Honeymaren has done this. Realizing she herself is face down against the kitchen floor, she glances to either side and up to see Honeymaren, shielding Elsa’s body with her own. On her knees and elbows, she crouches low over Elsa, protecting her as the water—still crashing into the room—morphs into a half dozen mini-Nokks while glass finishes shattering and purple flames rise fiercely from the stovetop.

(And some clattering noises resound from the basement. Elsa rolls her eyes, knowing that her little Earth creature has likely tumbled into breakable storage items.)

“You okay?!” Honeymaren gasps out, snapping Elsa back to the present moment.

“Honeymaren, it’s—!”

Just then, the mini-Nokks and frightful streams of flame volley toward them. Honeymaren cries out, ducking her head and covering Elsa the best she can. But Elsa sticks her arms out, shooting ice. When they aren’t shredded by razor-thin blades of water or burned alive, both women peek up.

“Wha—What?!” Honeymaren exclaims, moving out of the way the very millisecond that Elsa presses herself up against her, stands up.

Elsa is mad.

Without thinking, she spits ice from her hands at the fire and water, shoots one tendril out at the window—reforming it and covering the _HOLE IN HER HOUSE_ , before Gale blows in and causes more damage—and stomps upon the floor, creating some threatening icicles for the basement’s ceiling, all while screaming, “STOP IT! All of you!”

The two main aggressors sputter, embarrassed. In turn, Elsa groans at them—practically growling—holding flurries of snow at her fingertips. After a beat, the tiny Nokks lose their form, water splashing to the floor, and one large Nokk reforms outside the window that he’s broken. Meanwhile, Bruni guiltily comes out of hiding from behind the sugar container, still aflame but trying to smother himself by rolling on his back against the countertop. Gale chitters like a bell, gloating, finds a way in somehow and starts sweeping at glass and ‘hugging’ Elsa briefly before—

“Uh, Elsa?”

Her heart stops. Or at least, Elsa feels like her heart has stopped. Breathing certainly does, and blood surely drains from her face.

Everything’s over.

Slowly she turns to find Honeymaren wide eyed and a little pale. Swallowing thickly, Elsa looks her over for injury, only to realize that Gale is ‘hugging’ Honeymaren, too. In fact, Gale picks the woman up and stands her on her feet, whirls over to the main room for a pillow, carries it back, all so she can ‘pat’ Honeymaren’s head.

_Oh, god,_ she thinks. Elsa opens her mouth but no words come out. Her heart definitely beats now—faster and louder than could possibly be safe. At least the blood flow helps her brain _think,_ try to come up with words to say to Honeymaren’s frozen face.

Then the nameless rock creature bursts out the basement door, totters into the kitchen, pulls up short. It looks between Honeymaren, Elsa, and Gale (still patting Honeymaren). Realizing the fight’s been missed, it shyly mimics Gale’s approach by timidly hugging Honeymaren’s legs. A tiny sound escapes Honeymaren’s throat, staring down at her new company.

It occurs to Elsa that Gale must have been watching over her excursions with Honeymaren all this time. Despite the motorcycle. Within that same moment of recognition, the sense memory of Honeymaren’s body over Elsa’s—striving to protect her from harm—scales the walls that Elsa has built inside and stabs her heart through.

However, this tender recognition fades quickly, and Elsa feels her heart darken. How can she possibly explain this, keep Honeymaren around, stay safe?

For a whole minute, Honeymaren silently looks back and forth from the Nokk outside, to Bruni, to the clumsy earth critter. And Elsa can think of nothing to say. Even the magical creatures seem uncomfortable with Honeymaren’s breathless shock. Noticing this, Elsa lets them sit in their regret and discomfort, still steaming mad.

At long last, Honeymaren speaks, points at the clear ice where a window and _WALL_ existed a few minutes prior. “Horse… water!”

“Yes,” Elsa nods, watching her sadly.

Bringing her hand to her forehead, Honeymaren takes a few slow breaths. Then asks, “Can I pet it?”

Elsa’s face screws up incredulously. “What?!”

Before she can process Honeymaren’s request, though, they all hear fidgeting at the front door’s lock. The spirits stand at attention. Elsa and Honeymaren gawk at the door, then at each other in complete terror— _Anna!_

Internal screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is why I apologized in advance! This still counts as 100% fluff, there's just plot happening, don't worry
> 
> Unrelated, anybody know how to become a writer for a living?  
> Seriously, lol


	12. Porch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating is Teen Lite for language
> 
> This chapter used to be a lot shorter and part of the last chapter. I added a bunch of new stuff this week to sorta expand on some things, honestly because y'all have been really encouraging! That said, it's therefore seen the least editing of any chapter so, ya know, bear with my typos here lol
> 
> \---  
> Soooooooo I encourage you to look up organizations and groups in your area (there's an app called 'Whose Land?' that can help get things started in terms of just learning what colonization did/does), but in case you're thinking now is a good time for you to be donating to Native &/or Indigenous groups, during Native American Heritage Month (or idk just in general), I'm copy/pasting some land/water/air protectors' groups in the end notes.

☂️

**Chapter 12: Porch**

**Honeymaren**

Internal screaming.

It can only be Anna.

She _cannot_ know! She can’t find out like this!

Elsa _needs_ to be the one to tell her sister.

(And maybe also tell her about the tiny Nokks and a broken window and a rock baby and a fire lizard, too. Not Charizard, or any subsequent fire pokemon—an actual lizard with FLAMES!)

“Wait, Honeymaren!”

Acting fast, Honeymaren leaps back into the kitchen, opens a pantry door— _No, not enough space!_ To her side, a doorway! Runs through the doorway, around a corner into a hallway. Rushes down the hallway, lots of doors! Slides open a pair of closet doors, finds a laundry machine and a dryer inside. She climbs on top of them and pulls the doors closed behind her.

Only then—when she hears Anna enter the house and Elsa run to her fussing—does it occur to Honeymaren that Elsa called her name a moment ago. Also, that maybe Elsa has nothing to tell Anna about what just happened. Anna might know all about… that… stuff… already. Or not at all—Who knows?! The sisters are far enough away that Honeymaren isn’t sure what they’re saying. That, and her heart is racing, pounding in her ears. From the running. And what just happened.

What just happened?

Their voices raise a little, so Anna must see the mess. And the ice window. It’s hard to tell exactly what’s being said through the walls, though her tone doesn’t sound as aghast as Honeymaren probably sounded a minute ago. No wait, Honeymaren didn’t SAY anything a minute ago. Or, wait, did she? Didn't she say…? Her hand slaps her forehead. _You asked to pet the 'water horse.' You fucking dolt._

Nokks. Or one Nokk? Her mind reels. Just like her mother and grandmother used to tell her about. And a little fire lizard. A rock toddler thing. An entity that she couldn’t even see, sounds like ‘windchimes,’ surrounding her in a breeze _inside a house_ and… and pillow patting?? Ice! Ice, snow and-and such from hands, just like a superhero movie. Except real, in real life, hands she herself has touched and are real!

Her hands. Elsa wrapped her hand around Honeymaren’s when she pushed the mug of coffee Elsa’s way, back at the restaurant. Calm, gentle, a small callous from handwriting notes probably, and a little cool. Only a little, exactly appropriate for warming up with a mug of coffee.

Less than five minutes ago, Honeymaren felt fear the likes of which she never knew possible because a cyclone of purple flame was erupting, funneling toward her and Elsa. (Also the tiny Nokks with broken glass, but mainly the giant living fire.) That millisecond had been agonizing; Honeymaren _knows_ what bad burns feel like, and she has the scars to prove it. Every chef does, of course. She’s laughed her scars off, as they all do, but nobody goes looking for a scar. And then, right when Honeymaren expected to burn worse than ever before, she didn’t.

Because of Elsa.

What a wonder.

Wonder floods Honeymaren’s mind, stretching well beyond the confines of her brain and flowing through every tendril of every nerve in her body. The kind of wonder Honeymaren hasn’t felt since she was a small child, sitting in her mother’s lap while swaying together in a rocking chair, listening to her mother tell some fable. She had no reason to expect to feel anything remotely like this at this age. Elsa…

How… Elsa…

_Oh shit, Elsa!_ Honeymaren realizes the sisters’ voices are coming closer, just around that kitchen doorway into the hall. The adrenaline kicks in again. Then— _Oh shit, my jacket!_

“Thank you for your help,” Elsa says, weakly.

Further away, Anna sighs. “Don’t mention it. I’m just shocked Nokk did something like that! What could have gotten into him?! That scoundrel!”

Elsa mutters, “I h-have no idea. G-give me your sweater, you’re soaked through from the rain. I’ll dry it with the rest.”

There’s a pause, some shuffling, and suddenly the closet door in front of Honeymaren’s face opens. Elsa startles when she sees her, slams the door shut again. After a beat, she slowly reopens the door, fear clear as day across her face. Honeymaren looks back and forth between her blue eyes, full of questions certainly but mainly concerned. As Honeymaren thinks to whisper something to her, Anna calls, nearer, “You all right, sis?”

She must be standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Yes! Entirely!” Elsa says shrilly, blushing, smiling unnaturally to her side, raising her arm to hold the door open wide. So Anna doesn’t see. “Just… jumpy, that’s all.”

“What else is new?” Anna says, her voice warm. “Can’t say I blame you!”

Quickly and quietly, Honeymaren tucks her legs in close so she isn’t blocking the dryer. Elsa’s hands shake as she places a few wet towels and a damp hoodie on top of the machine. She turns to Honeymaren, grinding her teeth, looks completely mortified. Then she lays the plum jacket on the washer, folded-up, beside Honeymaren. Scarcely whispering, she tells Honeymaren, “I am so sorry.”

Honeymaren bites her lip, her words failing at the sight of the worry on Elsa’s face. She looks down at her own pale hands, and Honeymaren sees the slightest frost creep across Elsa’s shaking fingers.

What a wonder.

A lone drop of water falls upon Elsa’s hand, though. Furrowing her brow in confusion, Honeymaren looks up at her face again. Elsa’s eyes indeed overflow, though that’s the only tear to escape. When Elsa reaches again to put the items in the dryer, Honeymaren grabs at her hand. The tiniest gasp meets her ears. Slowly, purposefully, she knits their fingers together. In bits and fits, Elsa wraps her chilly fingers around Honeymaren's hand. Pleased, she looks up at Elsa’s face again and smiles.

Because Elsa is smiling, too. Barely, but it counts.

“Hey,” she whispers, offering Elsa a gentle grin. “Where are _your_ wet clothes, hm? Or did you forget getting yourself drenched?”

A soft breath of a laugh replies as well as a soft, bemused smirk.

Several long, steady breaths later, Elsa sighs. She checks up and down the hallway, then whispers, “Come this way.” As quietly as she can, Honeymaren gets off the washing machine. Elsa leads her down the hall only a few paces and opens a door into a tidy bedroom. Glancing anxiously back at her, Elsa races into the room, looks around at it, nods to herself. Although she wrings her hands, she motions for Honeymaren to enter, but races back out into the hall once she does. Slowly shutting the door, Elsa grimaces back at Honeymaren.

“It’s okay,” she mouths to Elsa.

Nodding slightly, Elsa closes the door slowly with a winking, “Sorry.” Although the moment is brief, Honeymaren keeps smiling after the sisters’ voices once again grow too distant to distinguish. Then she looks around—this must be Elsa’s bedroom. At first glance, it seems a bit sparse. Putting her hands in her pockets, Honeymaren walks toward the bed to sit down. She pauses at the desk, however. It’s covered with law books, as she’d expect, and has a neat little tray with bills. Wedged into the frame of a picture, however, is a business card. Honeymaren’s business card, from Kaffeost.

_Why is that touching?_ Honeymaren smiles a little at it, then notices the picture on the desk itself. Actually, several pictures, almost all of Anna. This one’s of her in a cap and gown, likely graduating high school. Her auburn hair clashes with the maroon garb but she looks bubbly and smiling by the looks of things. Taking another step or two toward the bed, another picture catches Honeymaren’s attention, on a bedside table. It’s small, old, looks like it got into its frame after it had been folded into a wallet or something. Four people: Two young girls, blonde and auburn, and presumably their parents. Honeymaren moves to pick the frame up, then pauses.

Given… everything… that just happened, Honeymaren thinks that’s got to be complicated territory. And technically, today was date number one. So, she sits down on the bed. Immediately, though, she stands back up and looks behind her, notices a strange lumpy shape under the covers. She reaches under the bedspread, feels something soft in her hands. What she pulls out makes Honeymaren coo automatically—a crocheted stuffed penguin that looks a little worse for wear. Biting her lip to keep from ‘aww’-ing anymore (or preemptively teasing Elsa under her breath), Honeymaren places the doll by the pillows.

For a while, Honeymaren simply scrolls through her phone to distract herself and not worry too much about everything and anything. If she’s totally honest with herself, she’s done some weirder things than hide in a laundry closet and a bedroom on a first date. First official date. Under far _less_ interesting circumstances. Nonetheless, she finds herself sitting at attention on the bed, arms and legs crossed tightly, anxious. In fact, she only realizes how long it’s been once the dryer dings across the hall. Suddenly the bedroom door opens again, revealing Elsa. She looks relieved, whispers, “This way.” Her hands are still shaking, though.

Standing up too fast, Honeymaren stumbles sideways, stiff—her legs fell asleep. Elsa stifles a nervous giggle, which makes Honeymaren chuckle quietly at herself. Trying to be serious, Elsa shushes her while helping her upright. Hand in hand, they tip toe toward the back door through the kitchen, and Honeymaren spots Anna asleep on a couch in the front room. When they get outside and Elsa closes the door, they both laugh nervously, releasing some tension and shaking their heads at each other.

“Again, I am so sorry, and… Thank you so much,” Elsa says, just loud enough to be heard over the drizzle.

“You’re welcome,” Honeymaren replies with a shrug, a little shaky herself. “Glad to see you’re feeling better,” she adds, stretching her shoulders and neck, ponders how her hair might look.

“Don’t jinx it,” Elsa sighs, bringing a hand up to nurse her temple.

“So… how much of that,” Honeymaren begins slowly, vaguely motioning toward the house, keeping her gaze soft, “are you going to explain?”

They hear a soft nicker. To their side, a full-sized horse of water—an actual Nokk—stands beside the porch in the rain. Honeymaren shivers at the sight. Despite her initial shocking encounter with the creature, she doesn’t feel afraid. Nervous and excited and very confused, but not fear. Taking a deep breath, she reaches her hand out slowly, letting the Nokk sniff at her palm. Beside her, she hears Elsa sigh with relief. Turning to look at her, Honeymaren feels the Nokk nudge her hand lightly, inspecting it. “Elsa, are you okay?”

“Are you?” she asks urgently.

_Fair question._ She shrugs. “Yeah, I’m okay. Confused, but I’m not hurt or anything.” Bruises on her elbows, maybe, but they don’t hurt much. Not as much as burns anyway. Glancing down, Honeymaren notes that she’ll probably need to take her clothes to a dry cleaner. “It’s not the _worst_ first date I’ve ever had by a longshot.”

“How,” Elsa starts, stepping closer, “is that _even_ possible?” They both laugh. But as her eyes dart from Honeymaren to the horse to the house to her hands, Elsa continues, “I can’t believe how… _calmly_ you’re taking all of this!”

“Honestly?” Honeymaren chuckles, her voice cracking slightly, “Me too.” Looking at the Nokk, petting him once more before he trots around the back yard in the rain, she adds, “These are things my family told stories about, but I had no idea it could be real. I thought it was _not_ real!”

“All too real.”

Glancing sideways, Honeymaren sees Elsa, arms crossed, glaring out into the rain. Not so much at the Nokk as… she’s hard to read. “And you,” Honeymaren starts, stops when she sees Elsa brace herself. She chews her lip before continuing, decides to step closer. Elsa gasps to herself, almost steps back and away, but Honeymaren takes another step. This time, Elsa stays, so she finishes her thought. Awe trickles into her voice despite herself, and Honeymaren tries to sound calm as she says, “That is, to think that the fifth spirit is a real thing! A real person…”

Instead of reassuring her, however, Elsa looks confused, her brow furrowed, crossed arms tightening around her torso. “The what? What are you talking about? What's the fifth spirit?”

“It’s… Did… You don’t…” Honeymaren blinks rapidly, slowly comprehending the situation at hand. “Elsa,” Honeymaren says slowly, “do you know what these spirits are?”

Elsa shakes her head, still looks perturbed, chewing on her cheeks. “I’ve had this… magic since I was little," she explains, glaring at her fingers. "These magical—erm… These ‘spirits’ came into my life after our parents died." Listening, Honeymaren feels a strange urge to wrap Elsa up in her arms and never let go. Honeymaren knew up to this point that she quite liked her, but right now, that feeling turns into something more. " We never knew what they were or why they appeared. Anna and I have managed it as best we can. This is the first time someone has…” Then, Elsa’s voice falters; some of this feeling must be showing on Honeymaren’s face.

Nodding, Honeymaren reaches out, hesitates, lightly touches Elsa’s shoulder. To her surprise, Elsa turns into the touch, steps closer still, pressing her crossed arms and torso into Honeymaren. Elated but a little stunned, she wraps her arms around Elsa’s back, presses a kiss to her cheek. They both shudder.

“I’m guessing this isn’t something I should go blabbing about?”

A soft hum and a slight shake of Elsa’s head against her shoulder reply.

“That’s fine,” Honeymaren says warmly. She runs her hand down the back of Elsa’s head and neck, combing through her hair. “This is your life and you’re in charge of it. Plus, it’s fun to know something Ryder doesn’t for once.”

“Why?”

“He's in grad school! And a total smartass,” Honeymaren says, happy to hear the softest hint of a chuckle from Elsa. She adds, “I can’t believe you got even cooler.”

“Cool?!” Elsa asks, pulling away to frown incredulously at Honeymaren. “Cool? I am not cool.”

“Cold then,” she says, kissing Elsa’s nose. More seriously, she sighs, “That’s a lot to handle on your own.”

**Elsa**

Without further ado, Elsa turns. Takes three steps. Sits down on the porch steps. After a pause, she hears Honeymaren follow.

“Elsa?” As she sits down beside Elsa, she groans, reminding Elsa distantly that Honeymaren works on her feet most days. Without looking at her, Elsa leans over sideways, rests her head on Honeymaren’s shoulder. After a moment’s pause, she wraps her arm around Elsa’s waist.

She cannot believe it.

Her secret’s out—completely, blatantly, cannot put this cat back in any bag _out_. And another human being, completely unrelated to her, is standing by her side. Or, rather, sitting beside and holding her. Then Honeymaren wraps her other arm around Elsa’s front, stretches to place her chin on top of Elsa’s head, sighs contentedly. It _cannot_ be believed! Elsa asks, “How are you here?”

“We took a rideshare. You were really drunk.”

“Who says I’m not still?” Elsa groans, massaging her head again.

A chuckle.

Quieter, her fears laid bare, Elsa asks, “How are you real?”

“How are you real?” Honeymaren rebuts. Then, “You know, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

“Poor communication is not a good foundation for any relationship,” Elsa mutters, watching the Nokk shake his head as Gale plays with him, blowing pollen from the trees at him.

Honeymaren hums, sounds amused. She pulls back and their eyes meet. Somehow, Honeymaren’s messy bun looks even prettier, and Elsa’s body aches at the smile in her eyes, the growing smirk on her face. “Maybe,” Honeymaren agrees.

Maybe.

_Okay… Start over. You never thought you’d tell, but now, with her, you get to…_ Taking a deep, shaky breath, Elsa admits softly, “So I have a secret.”

Honeymaren giggles, rolls her eyes. “No shit, snowflake!” And she kisses Elsa’s nose.

It makes no sense! “Do you not care?”

“Oh, no no no!” Honeymaren keens, licks her lips, suddenly concerned. “No no no, I’m sorry, I do care. This is important, I just don’t want you to worry about—”

“You’re not upset with me or anything? Nothing?!”

“Oh,” Honeymaren stops short. “I mean, no. I wouldn’t have told me either, if our places were switched. As long as this isn’t a ‘I have to kill you now’ type of secret.”

“But I… I don’t understand!”

She shrugs, nudges Elsa with her shoulder. “I guess that makes two of us.”

Elsa nods, quirks her brow up a little. Nonetheless, a frown twitches her features, fighting it at first. Then she fixes Honeymaren with a look. Nodding slightly toward the yard where Nokk plays in the rain, she asks, “How’d you know what we named him?”

“Is…” Honeymaren pauses, uncertain. Then she blushes, rubs at her face like she’s searching for words. At last she speaks, quickly. “You wouldn’t happen to know if either of your parents, or a grandparent perhaps, is from Northuldra?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% Fluff!  
> Three more chapters! They're each kinda long, just as a heads up.
> 
> \---  
> (Full disclosure, I'm making donations... once my rent is paid. Like I'm assuming we're all not-rich, I'm on unemployment, this is a non-judging zone in this department. Of these, I'm most familiar with the first two)  
> Land/Water/Air Protector Funds (including legal funds):
> 
> Kumeyaay Land Defense (Kumeyaay land defenders protecting land at the U.S.-Mexico border) https://linktr.ee/kumeyaaydefense 
> 
> Defend O'odham Land Bail Fund (Tohono O'odham land defenders protecting land at the U.S.-Mexico border, on IPD they were tear gassed by border patrol) https://www.gofundme.com/f/defend-oodham-land-bail-fund 
> 
> 1492 Land Back Lane Legal Fund https://www.gofundme.com/f/legal-fund-1492-land-back-lane 
> 
> Unist'ot'en https://unistoten.camp/support-us/donate/ 
> 
> Amah Mutsun Land Trust: https://donorbox.org/amah-mutsun-land-trust


	13. Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is long  
> I could absolutely justify splitting it in two because I expanded a scene here SIGNIFICANTLY this week  
> I'm starting editing late  
> I just found out that 'nordic folk' is a music genre, so I'm assuming that plus whatever Ryder likes (eg A Tribe Called Red) plays on the Kaffeost playlist  
> enjoy, I'm not splitting hairs this week, heck it!  
> also heads up, there's a time warp

💼🛌

**Chapter 13: Birthday**

**Elsa**

“Shall we stop for coffee?” Anna asks, buckling her seat belt with a yawn.

“Kaffeost?” Elsa asks, her voice a little higher than she’d like. Her heartbeat picks up, nervous about Honeymaren’s plan.

“Like we’d go—” Anna yawns again. “… anywhere else!”

“Get your feet off the dashboard.”

Anna grumbles, but does as asked.

“No stowaways today?”

Again, she grumbles. Glaring sleepily at her, Anna unzips her backpack on her lap, shows off the contents. Amused, Elsa dips her brow dangerously at her sister. “And…?”

“Groooan!” Anna says. She rolls her eyes, grabs the handle to her car seat’s back adjustment. The seat falls back horizontal, and Anna grins at Elsa while making a show of looking around the car interior. “No water creature, no air creature, no earth creature…”

“Anna.”

“No creatures to be found,” Anna finishes. She crosses her arms behind her head. “Might stay here myself.”

“Anna, look,” Elsa says. Peeking out of Anna’s hoodie pocket, Bruni watches the sisters wide-eyed and very still, trying to go unseen.

“Nooooo, buddy!” Anna moans weakly. “You can’t come with us!”

“He’s so cute, though,” Elsa whispers. Chilling a pair of her fingers, she lightly pets the salamander’s head.

“Only for now,” Anna reminds her. She tries to scoop Bruni up, and he hiccups a tiny spark of fire into the air, making her yelp and pull her hands back. The flame almost immediately disappears in a puff of smoke, but not without first scorching the edge of Anna’s hoodie pocket. “Now! See?! See that?! Gale is enough trouble to deal with out in the wide world—"

Scooping Bruni up in Anna’s stead, Elsa opens her driver’s side car door. “She doesn’t bother you nearly as much.”

While Elsa marches back to the yard to return Bruni home, Anna calls after her, “I’ll never forgive her for stealing my final paper last year!”

On her way back, Elsa simply says, “You don’t have to.” Shutting her car door and adjusting her seat belt, she adds, “Fix your seat, please.”

“Right, right, right, okay.” As Anna adjusts her belongings and such, Elsa peeks into her purse. Quickly, she sends a message to Honeymaren before turning ‘Do Not Disturb’ on her phone:

 **Elsa** ❄️ **:** Otw

She steals a glance over at Anna, hoping she hasn’t noticed anything. And, seeing as she’s already softly snoring again, Elsa sighs. _Let’s hope this works._

After an uneventful drive and a short walk from her parking spot, the sisters approach Kaffeost on foot. Despite it being a chilly day for spring, a warm breeze follows along with them both. “No,” Anna says aloud, but quiet enough that she could be mistaken for her speaking to Elsa. “I still do not forgive you.”

Gale’s soft whistle sounds, and the breeze fiddles with the ends of Anna’s two braids.

Grabbing them tight, Anna mutters, “I said, no! Not today, Gale!”

The wind… spirit rustles tree branches along the sidewalk, curls around Elsa, leaving Anna out in the cold air.

“Ugh, Gale, come on!”

“Maybe you should leave her be,” Elsa suggests. She holds the door into Kaffeost open for her sister, keeping her face as neutral as possible, aiming for disinterested. Instead of extremely familiar, and excited, and so, so anxious. Anna huffs and enters, Elsa following behind. Out of her little sister’s sight, her eyes roam for the face she longs to see, for her assurance.

Inside the café, the tables and window bar are all full of students and professors, naturally. Ryder carries a latté and a cappuccino to one of the tables, waves in passing to Anna and Elsa, pauses to fix a small flower vase that’s teetering near the edge of another table. Beyond him, Honeymaren dries her hands at the handwash sink in the back, smiling brightly toward the coffee counter. She catches Elsa’s eyes, winks, then leaves the kitchen for the front counter, where a post office worker awaits her. Anna doesn’t spot the wink, but Elsa reminds herself to be careful as they both join a line.

“Hey wait,” Anna says, watching the post office worker leave but directing her attention to Ryder, who passes by the sisters when he returns behind the counter. “She didn’t pay for her coffee?”

“Unwritten rule,” Honeymaren says to her. “USPS gets free coffee here.”

“Well,” Ryder chides lightly. “Our post worker anyway.”

“Yes, whoever’s got us on their route,” Honeymaren agrees. Anna shrugs and nods as if to say, _That makes sense_. While pressing some buttons on the screen of her cash register, Honeymaren continues casually, “Gotta have some hot coffee on a blustery day like this. Reminds me of some old Northuldra stories, right Ry?” Elsa holds her breath. Ostensibly, she knows Honeymaren’s deliberately speaking loud enough to be overheard by Anna. The nature of the plan requires Honeymaren _and_ _Elsa_ to be convincing actors, though. Which Elsa harbors some doubts about, given her main acting experience involving playing a literal tree with no speaking lines in a grade school play.

“What stories?” Ryder asks, pulling a face. His eyes dart to Anna and Elsa, their customers.

“About the spirits of nature, remember? And the fifth spirit?” Honeymaren says, smirking ever so slightly. To her credit, she avoids looking at Elsa completely. But is that weird in itself? Because she’s a guest, after all? Anna looks curiously at her and Ryder, but mainly eyes the pastries on display.

Ryder pauses, clueless. “Like… the Nokk and stuff?”

So quiet someone else might have missed it, Elsa hears Anna gasp. Suddenly, her hand grabs at Elsa’s below the counter. For her part, Elsa tries to act, too. If this was the first she heard of this information, surely she’d gasp a little also… right? Elsa bites her lip, glances Anna’s way. _Oh god, she’s pale! How do you act becoming pale?!  
_

“W-What’s a Nokk?” Anna asks Ryder.

“It’s like a water horse thing. It’s Norwegian folklore, they drown liars and stuff.”

“But that’s not the Northuldra version of the story,” Honeymaren nudges him slightly. Her brown eyes finally turn to Elsa. And the look in her eyes is _dangerous_ —Elsa can feel her poor attempt at pretending to be a stranger to this woman falling apart. Honeymaren subtly looks her over, licks her lips less subtly, then says, “Ryder, you should tell her about it, you both like animals and nature stuff, right? And miss?" She turns to Elsa fully, says, "I can get your order started?”

In this moment, it finally dawns on Elsa that Honeymaren's wearing a blouse—unusual to begin with—under her apron, and due to Elsa's slight advantage in height as well as several buttons being undone, she can see down Honeymaren's sh—

“I mean we both like science?” Ryder shrugs. _That's the best you've got?!_ Elsa thinks, averting her gaze from Honeymaren's shirt situation at the sound of his voice. _You're supposed to distract my sister from what a mess I am, Ryder!_

“No no, I love animals!” Anna insists. “Do say more!” She looks over at Elsa, her blue eyes intense. With a squeeze of her hand and a sideways nod, Anna encourages her to make their order while she investigates. Elsa sighs with relief at not being caught gaping at a woman. At her girlfriend in public. _One thing at a time,_ Elsa reminds herself. _Spirits first, coming out later_. Coming out seems so ordinary by comparison, but Elsa can only handle so much drama in her and Anna's lives at once.

“I mean, to the Northuldra the Nokk is a guardian of our homeland, the forests in northern Scandinavia, and our people,” Ryder tells Anna with a shrug. “Then there’s three other spirits: fire, wind, and earth.”

Meanwhile Elsa tries to (a) look normal to Ryder, (b) look amazed but still her subtle self to Anna, and (c) look uninterested in Honeymaren, while also (d) looking at Honeymaren the way she deserves, because how on earth is this ridiculous plan working?! And working while Elsa cannot play her part at all?! She can’t figure out where to rest her eyes while ordering. Plus, now someone else is in line behind them. “Uhhh…”

“But the story goes that in times of imbalance, a ‘fifth spirit’ would come from among our people and have the power to settle the spirits of nature and balance everything,” Ryder continues, unsure why his student seems so interested in his cultural background.

“What were the other spirits like?” Anna asks.

Honeymaren speaks simultaneously. “You prefer your coffee black, right?” she asks Elsa, feigning slight familiarity.

Holding her breath, Elsa nods in silence. Then, too loudly, she adds, “And my sister would like a mocha.” Glancing at all three of them and blushing, Elsa mutters, “Please.”

She catches sight of Honeymaren’s hand twitching, like she was going to reach out to her. Instead she smiles, says, “My pleasure.”

Blood rushes in Elsa’s ears, so loud she loses track of Anna and Ryder’s conversation even as Anna grabs and squeezes her hand again. She should pay attention, she knows, but there’s too many moving pieces and all Elsa wanted was to rest her hand on Honeymaren’s there on the counter. Not that Anna would cause trouble, but it's still so early! And the spirits thing is a much bigger deal for the two of them as a family, something she needs help with most desperately, because the Bar Exam is this summer… Then, as she hands cash to Honeymaren, she feels Anna tug on her hand, pull her away from the counter. “Keep the change, we’ll wait here!” Anna shouts, moving Elsa away.

“What are you—?”

“Elsa!” Anna whispers urgently, glancing toward the windows out the corner of her eye. Following her look, Elsa turns her head.

“Shit!” she whispers. Despite a clear blue sky, snow lightly flurries outside.

“Was it supposed to snow today?” Anna asks.

“No, it’s me,” Elsa hisses softly. She takes a deep breath, screws her eyes shut to concentrate. Too many things at once.

“Are you okay? Is anything wrong? Do you want to talk about it? That sounded like a good lead. Was it stressing you out?” Anna whispers to her, interrupting Elsa’s focus.

“I’m fine,” she says, curt. _Calm down!_

“Sorry!” Anna keens. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no,” Elsa interrupts. “You absolutely should ask these questions. It’s a strange coincidence, certainly.”

“Is it upsetting for you, though? Because I can take this one for the team, I can follow this lead like I am the editor in chief, I can hunt this down like a dog, I got you, sis!”

Behind Anna, Elsa catches sight of Honeymaren watching them intensely while Ryder helps the next guest. Elsa rests her forehead against her fingertips, shakes her head at her ridiculous situation. “Sure, fine. Go crazy.” _Please don’t go crazy, sis._

“You got it! You focus on law school, I’m doing this, interrogation style!”

“Please don’t, no interrogating, Anna.”

“Coffees for Arendelle?” Honeymaren calls. Elsa takes the lifeline she's been thrown, steps forward quickly while Anna hangs back. She meets Honeymaren's brown eyes with a sharp intake of breath. "She take the bait?" Honeymaren asks quietly, holds the mugs out for Elsa.

"Entirely," Elsa huffs sharply. She wraps her hands around the beverages, purposefully wrapping her fingers around Honeymaren's while the little siblings aren't looking. Softly, she adds, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Honeymaren assures her, winking again and removing her hands, leans forward against the counter. "I _told_ Ryder we're dating and he doesn't remember shit." She shakes her head, then adds with a bewitching smirk, "I could see telling Anna so many things at once breaking her." In her attempt to contain a snicker, Elsa ends up snorting.

\---

Within hours, Anna has taken it upon herself to conduct actual research into the Northuldra story’s origins and thensome. While she has the ability to blow off her undergraduate studies—or rather, replacing time spent scrolling through TikTok working on this project instead—Anna frees Elsa to focus on her upcoming Bar exam and finishing up her current internship. Thus, they find some answers after years of questions: They learn their mother’s secret.

They knew their mother came from Scandinavia, that’s how they ended up naming Nokk. Nothing prepared them for the revelation that she was Northuldra, a subgroup of the indigenous Sami peoples.

Through this strange plan that played perfectly into Anna’s natural interests and personality, Honeymaren gave Elsa and her sister access to information she never could have dreamed. Instead of inserting herself or acting like a gate keeper. Better yet, she did it in a way that put the onus on Anna, made it seem like Anna’s idea to do the research. And through the questions—Did their father know? Did their mother know these stories, and choose not to tell her daughters? Or did she not know them either? How did she meet their father?—the sisters become even closer, if possible. (Luckily, there are ancestry services to help answer the questions, too.)

… thus freeing Elsa to study. For the Bar Exam. At the end of July. This July. This year. July.

Granted, having been the top of her class (for years), Elsa has always found a way to make the many items on her plate balance out. But doing deeply personal research on top of studying for the Bar and all of that regular stuff? No. She only has until July!

But June will come first.

Another three months pass.

This impressive trick isn’t all Honeymaren does to assert herself as a welcome addition to Elsa’s life during that time, despite Elsa’s general unavailability. She invites Elsa’s study group into the café for their study sessions, ensuring that the two can still spend time around one another. Sure, Honeymaren insists it’s good business sense, but despite the desperate students’ purchases she always greets them with a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies on the house. Then she proceeds to work non-stop while the law students study, prepping countless kinds of dough, pastries, cleaning—activities she assures Elsa she would be doing anyway, only now she has company and extra income. At one point, Elsa does the math: fourteen hour days appear to be Honeymaren's norm, too.

However, as finals approach, Anna holes up at home to study more and more, making it impossible for Elsa to sneak off to Honeymaren’s apartment for their 'real' dates. She has little business doing so every Saturday anyway, even when Honeymaren had been teaching her baking skills in earnest.

So she gives Elsa a spare key to her apartment. “You can come and go as you please,” Honeymaren tells her with a peck on her cheek. “As your schedule allows, even for five minutes if you want. Just let me know ahead of time in case Ryder’s around.”

_A spare key!_

The gift—along with an ‘actual gift,’ per Honeymaren—is presented to Elsa over dinner, a couple nights after her graduation from law school. Because Honeymaren comes to her graduation, sits away from Anna, who got dibs for a special dinner with Elsa on graduation night itself. Admittedly, Elsa hasn’t used the key much. On the other hand, the two times she does sneak away to visit her _girlfriend,_ she finds her chest tightening when she realizes Bruni has stowed away to visit Honeymaren, too. (The earth spirit, or ‘Samantha’ as Honeymaren has dubbed her, also attempts to stow away once, without nearly as much success.) Or Gale, floating around Honeymaren’s porch, listening to the woman talk to the wind spirit as if she's a person. If Elsa could freeze time instead of water, _that_ is the moment she would pick. Then again, when she had strayed too close to the hammock, and Honeymaren had pulled her into it beside her, followed by a very pleasant hour… That was another excellent contender for a moment to freeze in time.

During which time, Honeymaren did not so much as _whisper_ along the edge of Elsa’s previously mentioned physical boundaries. After all, after their first date went so awry, they had been able to test the water in earnest. Granted, the 'water' was snow and ice. Trust, as it turns out, makes it easier for Elsa to control her powers while finally—FINALLY—engaging in perks of a _real_ relationship. And they’ve had conversations about certain… preferences.

Still, Honeymaren stays far above the belt, even when Elsa has hinted that she would gladly entertain a whisper along that edge… or more than a whisper, preferably… With everything else, though, there hasn’t been much opportunity to insist.

\---

Friday night. The twenty-first of June. Elsa smiles to herself as she drops her bags on the passenger seat beside her, pulling her car door shut behind her. She locks the door and buckles up, smiling softly to herself. Takes a deep breath and a minute to herself in the car.

_Anna is twenty-one,_ she wonders. Somehow, she’d kept that wild child alive since their parents’ passing six years ago. Now, she was out living it up at some bar with her school friends and her boyfriend, Kristoff. Doing something rowdy yet responsible, presumably. Knowing Kristoff, he’ll keep them out of any real trouble. If Elsa's constantly buzzing cell phone is any indication, Anna is including Elsa in the night’s escapades as much as possible while still asserting her independence. Peeking at the screen, her suspicions are confirmed. Elsa finally turns the ignition.

However, she remains parked outside the law school library. Elsa turns her phone over again, looks at the screen. Behind the notifications, the background image of Honeymaren glows on the screen. A picture Elsa sneaked when Honeymaren greeted the law school study group one night at Kaffeost. Glancing through Anna’s texts, Elsa realizes she likely won’t be home anytime soon tonight. And, perhaps, she wouldn’t notice if Elsa wasn’t at home either. So long as she had the birthday cake prepared in time for their special sister celebration dinner tomorrow, Elsa could… maybe…

She shuts the car off again. Unlocks her phone, opens messages, scrolling the extremely little distance to Honeymaren’s name.

 **Elsa** ❄️ **:** Are you busy?

 **Honeymaren** **🍯** **:** …

The animated ellipses taunt Elsa, then disappear. Suddenly, the phone rings.

“Hello?” she asks as she answers.

“H-hey,” Honeymaren pants. Gulping in air, she asks, “What’s up?”

Of the responses Elsa might have to such sounds, the least expected among them is what Elsa experiences—sudden heat flooding her body. “Are you all right?” she squeaks.

“Yeah, sorry,” Honeymaren says. “I biked to work today—my regular bicycle I mean—and—”

“But you always bike to work?”

“It was warmer than I thought it would be tonight. Anyway, how can I help you, snowflake?”

_Melting is more like it,_ Elsa thinks to herself. Nonetheless, she contorts herself uncomfortably, embarrassed despite not being visible to her girlfriend. “I… I was wondering if maybe I could swing by tonight?”

Coughing erupts.

“Honeymaren?! Are you sure you’re okay?”

“J-just!” she wheezes. More desperate coughs and a distant, “Oh fuck.” Clearing her throat, Honeymaren explains, “I choked. On my water, I mean.”

The image of Honeymaren, sweaty and choking at a late-night suggestion, plays fast through Elsa’s mind. A grin at her expense creeps across Elsa’s face. “Would you like a minute?”

“Are you laughing at me?!”

Laughing, Elsa retorts, “No!”

“You are!”

“Sorry!” Elsa strains, the image replaying in her mind. “I just…”

“You did this to me!” Honeymaren’s trying to contain laughter herself now, which just makes her coughing fit return. “How dare you?”

“Shall I take that as a no?” Elsa asks, smiling. The image in her mind adjusts, returns to Honeymaren sweating through her clothes after a bike ride. Peeling off layers. Wiping herself off… Even as she bites her lip, she questions internally what about _Honeymaren_ sweating could be any better than sweating _herself_ , a sensation that she still despises.

“No!”

“No as in I should not come by, or no as in I should?”

“Stop confusing me.” Honeymaren groans, continues, “I’d love to see you tonight. But I need to shower and I’m honestly pretty tired. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Elsa says. “I’m tired, too.” She shrugs her shoulders up tight. Any words outside the lexicon of her studies fail to arrive. “I would like see you.”

“I’d like that, too. See you soon.”

Elsa hums in the affirmative, puts away her phone. Honeymaren’s apartment isn’t far from her. Nonetheless, she hesitates once again. Deciding, she turns the ignition and drives to her house. Drops off her bags full of papers and books. Packs a smaller bag with pajamas, her medications, toothbrush, a change of clothes, and…

On her way out, Bruni scurries out of the plants and leaps into Elsa’s hands. Samantha opens the basement door, makes a yawning sound and motion, then runs over to hug Elsa’s knees. Speechless, Elsa hugs back. After their moment, she makes a little snow pile for the two spirits to play with. Leaving the usual light on for Anna, she locks the house up. Her heart jumps, excited, and she accidentally freezes the key in the lock. Rolling her eyes at herself, Elsa breathes out slowly, unfreezing it, and turns back to her car.

Maybe nothing will happen, she reminds herself. Which would be fine. She could swing in, they could cuddle for twenty minutes, call it a night and go separate ways. Or not.

When she reaches Honeymaren’s door, even though she has a key, Elsa knocks first. Slowly opening the door, she stiffens, eyes widening at the sight: Honeymaren stands at the other side, grimacing as she quickly finishes wrapping a robe around her torso, a towel already covering her hair. Brown skin shines like gold. “Sorry!” Honeymaren groans, fingers scrambling and slipping on the robe. When she secures her coverage at last, she looks up at Elsa, freezing her to the spot with those dark brown eyes.

“Snowflake, you okay?”

“Uh…” she shakes herself, realizes that Honeymaren’s hand is on her shoulder, trails down to her hand. “I’m fine, sorry,” Elsa says. She steps into the kitchen, and closes the door behind her. _Keep it together!_ Smiling and tucking back some hair when she turns back around, Elsa explains, “Just studying, I’m… I’m fine, just tired.” Then she catches Honeymaren staring at her bag.

Her brown eyes dart from the bag to Elsa’s eyes to the bag and back. Honeymaren shakes herself a little and smiles her usual way. Letting go of Elsa’s hand to hold her own fingers in a vice grip, Honeymaren shrugs, says, “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just, um, change and dry my hair, okay?”

“Of course,” Elsa says, watches Honeymaren go back into the bathroom as she toes off her heels and walks toward the front room, collapsing on the couch.

**Honeymaren**

_Bag bag bag overnight bag it’s a bag!_ Honeymaren’s mind races as she panics in the bathroom. She reaches for her cell phone, typing furiously to her brother, stops, deletes it all. Then, she thinks maybe she could text her friend Timmy, but decides against that as well. Leaning against the sink, she stares herself down in the mirror.

_You’re fine. Calm down._

_Bag!_

_Stop it. Doesn’t mean anything. Nothing’s changed._

_But bag!_

_Doesn’t matter. This is_ Elsa. _You are crazy about her! And you are respectful. You are patient. Calm the fuck down._

With a deep, steadying breath, Honeymaren returns to her routine.

Ten minutes later, she comes out of her bedroom in pajamas and finds Elsa entertaining herself with her phone—and lazily making tiny trails of ice crystals with her other hand—on the couch. The poor woman looks exhausted, and while that isn’t new as of late, Honeymaren’s chest beats tender for her all the same. She sits down along the length of the couch, and Elsa turns herself, leans back into Honeymaren, rests her head against Honeymaren’s chest. She gives the crown of Elsa’s head a kiss as she loosely wraps her arms around her, noticing Elsa stop playing with her ice powers. “How was your day?”

“The same,” Elsa sighs, setting aside her phone with disinterest. “Studied, then studied more.”

“Are you excited to bake your Anna cake tomorrow?” Honeymaren asks, starts unbraiding Elsa’s hair. She bends into it, moaning softly at the touch.

“Too tired,” Elsa mutters.

Softly, Honeymaren says, “I get that.”

“Wanna cuddle in bed?” Elsa asks, yawning.

Although Honeymaren’s hands continue with their task, she feels her heartbeat thunder in her ears. “If you want to, but I might fall asleep. Will you be okay letting yourself out?”

Elsa rolls to her side, looks at Honeymaren imploringly. “Do you want me to leave?”

Sizzling inside at the sight of Elsa, her back arching against her, Honeymaren makes the tiniest of whimpers, hopes that Elsa doesn’t hear it. Softly she replies, “Not necessarily. Only if you want to.”

Under pleading brows, Elsa’s dark blue gaze looks back and forth between Honeymaren’s eyes. “Could I stay if I want to?”

It’s the tenderness in her voice that hits Honeymaren deep. She brings her hands up to Elsa’s cheeks, caressing them softly. “Of course! If you want to be here, if you feel safe here, I’m thrilled to have you.”

“Mmm,” Elsa hums, eyes fluttering closed. Honeymaren wraps her arms around her again, smiling as her pale hands lightly grasp her arms. She sighs into the embrace, and Honeymaren kisses her again.

“You know we have to get up right?”

“Shush,” Elsa whispers.

“We're not sleeping on the couch, Elsa.”

“Fine!” Elsa groans. She sits up. As Honeymaren follows suit, she catches sight of Elsa blushing furiously—but why? With sudden liveliness, Elsa stands, grabs her bag from Honeymaren’s desk chair, and walks quickly to the bathroom. Honeymaren considers the situation, watching her go.

She’s so tired—catering season (aka wedding season) has been busier than usual this year. Every single person in town who put off their wedding during the pandemic has picked _Kaffeost_ for the cake it seems, or even a whole meal for morning weddings. Graduations, too. It takes her a moment to remember that the article with her interview printed about a month ago, after a publication delay of some kind. That’s why her business is booming. Literally. Exploding at the seams.

Hushed, Honeymaren reminds herself, “It’s just a sleep over.” Although she expected to feel disappointed saying it, she actually finds herself relieved. Still, she goes into her bedroom and tidies up quickly. Come to think of it, Honeymaren realizes Elsa’s never been in her bedroom. She sits down on the mattress and waits. When Elsa knocks, opens the door wearing a knee-length night gown, another wave of relief hits Honeymaren.

“You look nice,” Elsa says, yawning again but staying in the doorway.

Honeymaren shrugs but smiles. It’s just a boxers and another old concert shirt. She certainly wasn’t going to sleep in the nude tonight, even after a muggy bike ride. Still, Elsa pauses in the doorway. Swinging her legs onto the bed and pulling back the covers, Honeymaren tells her, “You can come in, you know.”

Mystified, Elsa accepts the invitation, albeit cautiously. She sits on the opposite edge of Honeymaren’s bed and swivels, only tucking her toes under the covers.

Quietly, Honeymaren asks, “You okay?” Simultaneously, she places a hand on Elsa’s shoulder. Maybe she wasn’t as ready as she thought she was. That’d be okay. After everything Honeymaren’s learned of Elsa—the secretly Northuldra mother, unknown elemental powers, adopting her own sister—she’s allowed to take whatever pace she fucking wants. As far as she, Honeymaren, is concerned, only the most incredible person in the world could handle all of that and come out of it with poise, consideration, and kindness.

“Mhmm,” Elsa hums. She takes a shaky breath, swallows thickly, and shyly meets Honeymaren’s gaze. Through an equally shaky smile, she adds, “Most okay I’ve been in a while.” She looks tranquil.

Honeymaren’s hand sweeps up to Elsa’s cheek, letting her fingertips reach into her blonde hair. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *finger guns*
> 
> yeah the only thing I know about becoming a lawyer is that studying for the Bar Exam is THAT BAD and this is not an exaggeration. also, i missed the titular coffee shop, so that whole scene got added this week
> 
> \---  
> Gonna keep doing this, cuz why not?  
> if you're on the gram, check out @ lilnativeboy for these and other ways to donate in support of indigenous communities (North America focus), that's who I get these recs from. Below are a few Mutual Aid groups (Mutual Aid's gotta be top five phrases of 2020 right?). I've donated to the middle one (IMA), 
> 
> Mutual Aid:  
> CT Mutual Aid https://ctmutualaid.com/en/home  
> Indigenous Mutual Aid https://www.indigenousmutualaid.org/  
> K’e Infoshop’s Linktree to other tribal mutual aid funds http://linktr.ee/keinfoshop


	14. Cake (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E for explicit, beware the *** this chapter. I don't know why but this has been THE hardest chapter to edit, so if it sucks lemme know and I'll get it fixed up.
> 
> If you are not into the NSFW, in my defense, last chapter was super long and the next one will be too!

🎂⏲

**Chapter 14: Cake (E)**

**Elsa**

When Elsa wakes up, she recognizes physical contact. Although she jumps at first, she restrains her powers. Blinking rapidly, she assesses the contact, looks around without moving too suddenly.

_Honeymaren!_

Under Elsa’s pillow, Honeymaren’s arm. Over her ribs, Honeymaren’s other arm. Against Elsa’s back, her chest and her face, pressed gently against the back of Elsa’s neck. And lower, the curve of Honeymaren’s hips, pressed against Elsa’s ass, and intermingled legs.

It’s warm. So warm… Her memory plays tricks on her. Not tricks, no, it’s a real memory—Elsa remembers her first ‘real’ date with Honeymaren, coming back to her house.

_(God, I was so drunk.)_

And the spirits went on alert because she, Elsa, was off her guard. Admittedly with a trustworthy person, but they didn’t know that. Not knowing what or who the spirits were, Honeymaren shielded Elsa with her body, close to her like this. She wrapped herself around Elsa to protect her. _On her knees and elbows…_ It must have been scary for her…

Honeymaren even hid when Anna arrived, not because Elsa would ask her to, but because she had the right to have a conversation with Honeymaren on her own time, and another conversation with Anna on her own time. (Ideally, immediately after the Bar Exam next month.) At least, that’s what she told Elsa.

All to protect _her…_ Elsa. 

Honeymaren never thought twice about it. Or if she did, she never said so.

For her own part, Elsa has never been one to easily disclose her secrets. Truthfully, Elsa has seldom felt safe enough to do so, much less to admit to herself what she wants. For so long she’s lived to support others, denying herself. Patiently, Honeymaren’s been there these last several months, letting Elsa learn how _not_ to do that if she wants.

Elsa slowly turns over—careful not to wake the sleeping beauty behind her. She scooches closer, cuddling into Honeymaren’s chest, and she falls back asleep, safe and sound.

**Honeymaren**

“And…!” Honeymaren stands behind Elsa, watching and smiling as Elsa pushes the cake pans forward and closes the oven. Elated, Honeymaren jumps on her toes. “Voila! Cake is cooking!” Elsa turns to her, smiling sheepishly, brushing her hair out of her eyes but smudging flour on her face. Honeymaren laughs, rubs the smudge off and hugs her. “Great job!”

“Thank you!” Elsa laughs a little nervously, wipes her hands off on her apron, unties her ponytail. “How long?”

“Thirty minutes,” Honeymaren says confidently, setting an egg timer in the kitchen. “This oven’s shit compared to what I have at the café. Since it’s more than one layer in the oven, it’ll take longer, but we’ll check on it.”

“And in the meantime?”

Honeymaren smiles, licks her lips, remembers waking up to find Elsa’s nightgown pushed up as they slept, revealing her pale thighs and a hint at the swell of her— _STOP IT! PATIENCE!_

“Whatever you’d like,” she says warmly, shrugs. Anxiety rises nonetheless, and she reaches into a cookie jar on the counter, where unsold pastries from _Kaffeost_ go if Ryder’s not around to eat them. Taking a bite of a random cookie, Honeymaren focuses on how she cannot risk anything today. It is finally the day that Elsa gives her little sister a birthday cake, baked from scratch. _On her own!_ (Honeymaren only answered questions and helped her find the tools she needed.)

This cake is only the entire whole reason she met Elsa in the first place.

While trying to think of things they can do to kill time besides scrolling on their phones, Honeymaren realizes little by little that Elsa is closing in on her, watching her lips as she takes another bite of cookie.

“Uhhh, I have some board games,” Honeymaren suggests, leaning against the countertop. She pulls on the collar of her muscle tank, moves to rub the back of her neck, adds, “A-and card… games!” Swallowing as Elsa stops an inch in front of her, Honeymaren lifts the cookie to her and asks, “Did… Do you want some, uh, cookie?”

Quiet, her blue eyes still fixed on Honeymaren’s lips, Elsa says, “You have some chocolate on your face.”

The part of Honeymaren’s gut that fixated on Elsa’s bag last night produces a pleased, low groan in her chest. Unable to resist, she licks her lips, quirks her brow up at Elsa. “All better?”

“No,” Elsa mumbles, hands weaving into Honeymaren’s hair at the back of her neck as she presses forward, kissing her.

***

A smile immediately meets her lips as Honeymaren returns Elsa’s affections. She tosses the unfinished cookie onto the counter with disinterest, wraps her arms around Elsa’s back. Her upper back. And while some might not find shoulder blades enticing, to Honeymaren they’re _Elsa’s_ shoulder blades.

The tip of Elsa’s tongue flicks across Honeymaren’s lips—so slight a touch, it could be an accident. Still, Honeymaren smiles more, bites Elsa’s lip gently, tugs back on her lip. She opens her eyes a sliver, catches sight of Elsa’s surprised grin. Encouraged, she presses forward again, lets her tongue meander, circle, and explore alongside Elsa’s. But those tantalizing, scarless hands advance into Honeymaren’s hair, tugging against her braid, then wander down over her shoulders and across her arms. Then they’re jumping to her ribs, edging up dangerously, and then dangerously _down_ her stomach.

Fuzzy at the edges of her mind, Honeymaren leans in closer. The unanticipated pushback from Elsa, fixing Honeymaren’s hips against the kitchen counter, wakes her from her trance.

Soft moans escape Honeymaren when she pulls back, biting her own lip hard. “Elsa,” she mutters, blinking rapidly. Once Elsa’s hooded gaze meets her own, she laughs softly, “You gotta be careful with me, snowflake.” Trying feebly to slow them down a little, her hand searches for the rest of her cookie, stuffs it into her mouth.

However, Elsa doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest. She moves her lips to Honeymaren’s face instead, kissing her forehead, her cheekbones, down to her throat, back up to her earlobe—earning a whine. _Weak,_ Honeymaren thinks through the haze, _She knows I’m weak right there._

Sucking briefly on her earlobe, Elsa then whispers, “Let’s get more comfortable?”

“Sure,” Honeymaren mumbles, quiet and overwhelmed, wearing a dazed grin. She pushes into Elsa a little, then reaches around Elsa’s waist to untie her apron, which proves an excellent opportunity to return some neck kisses to her. But not for too long; they have a time limit. Quickly she lifts the apron over Elsa’s head. When she turns to hang it up though, Honeymaren feels a tug—Elsa’s hands untying _Honeymaren’s_ apron. Heat had already been rising to her skin, and now her face blazes at the strangely intimate gesture.

Although Elsa lifts her apron over her head, her hands fall and she wraps her arms around Honeymaren’s stomach, pulling them flush together. _Chest hips boobs sh—!_ Elsa returns her lips to her earlobe and neck, holding her tight. Honeymaren’s brain fizzles out.

“Honey…”

Honeymaren gasps, “Fffelsss!” Elsa lets her go.

In the beat it takes her to hang up both aprons, Honeymaren closes her eyes and inhales. _Patience,_ she reminds herself. _You are respectful. You are safe for her._

Turning back round to Elsa, she’s pleased to see she’s not the only one flushed, at least. Smiling smugly, Honeymaren takes Elsa’s hand and leads them down the hall, toward the couch for what’s promising to be an excellent make-out session. However, as they pass her bedroom door, Elsa freezes.

Literally—her feet freeze to the floor.

Looking back over her shoulder, she spots Elsa’s small shy smile. Blushing, and not quite brave enough to return her gaze right away. Honeymaren wears her question on her face. She tilts her head slightly, faces Elsa. “What is it? Is something wrong?” she asks gently, takes hold of both of Elsa’s hands, searches her face for discomfort.

Their eyes meet, and Elsa’s smile trembles a little as it grows. “What if we…?”

As fast as she can, Honeymaren forces her face into a neutral position in spite of the rapid drumbeat in her chest. _Stay calm stay calm stay calm stay calm!_ Her grip on Elsa’s hands tightens though, watching her face carefully. “What if we what?”

Huffing, Elsa looks frustrated… and playful. Watching her, Honeymaren lifts her hands and kisses her knuckles. Elsa’s face stills, mesmerized. She says, “I think we’ve waited long enough if… if you want…”

Honeymaren deliberately breathes over the skin she’s just kissed, watches Elsa’s chest rise and hitch. Electricity shimmers through her body at the sight. She can’t deny _desiring_ Elsa; she’s kept herself under control up to this point. “Want what?”

A squeak in return. Honeymaren returns her gaze to Elsa’s face. Her hooded blue eyes look desperate. She husks, “Do you want me like I want you?”

Indeed, a wave of want crashes through Honeymaren at those words, and she kisses Elsa with as much intensity as she dares. Her fingers rise to Elsa’s chin, holding her in place for the moment Honeymaren barely backs away. She whispers, letting her smiling lips brush against Elsa’s, “Tell me how you want me.”

Elsa leans back in, kisses by her ear again. Frustration wins out though, makes Elsa more impulsive, and she replies directly beside Honeymaren’s ear: “Ideally, naked.”

Swallowing a whine and grinning ear to ear, Honeymaren asks, “Will you _also_ be ideally naked?”

“Please!”

_Good enough for me!_ Honeymaren reaches around Elsa’s waist, pulling them together tight. She snuggles her face against Elsa’s neck for a moment, feeling giddy, touched. Small and big all at once. Trusted. “I want you, too.”

She kisses Elsa again, soft and sweet this time, silently tracing the words ‘thank you’ as she does. However, Elsa’s patience for soft and sweet has passed. _Her_ kisses grow in passion, makes Honeymaren giggle as she pulls them into the bedroom. They clumsily close the door behind them, giggling and kissing their way toward the bed. As they sit facing each other, Honeymaren places a finger at Elsa’s lips.

“What?”

“Level with me, snowflake,” Honeymaren says, leaving a peck on Elsa’s nose. “We’ve discussed almost everything except the most obvious.” She recognizes a slight temperature drop, Elsa’s tense shoulders, pinched lips. So, Honeymaren offers more chaste kisses to help her relax. Once she hears an airy chuckle, Honeymaren asks the most obvious question: “Have you done this before?”

Yes, they have had more than one conversation about preferences and boundaries, always at Elsa’s suggestion. And it would have been simple to ask about her sexual history. Hell, Honeymaren _opened_ with her own, months ago! _(Like an ass,_ she reminds herself.) But the obvious question often is the most difficult, so up to this point she didn’t want to force it upon her lawyer-snowqueen-girlfriend.

“No,” Elsa whispers, leaning back. She twists away, crossing her arms over her chest, worrying at her lip. “Not _with_ anyone,” she mutters, rolling her eyes at herself despite Honeymaren’s reassuring caress across her shoulders. Clearly embarrassed, Elsa asks, “Is it obvious?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Honeymaren assures her, moving her hands down her arms, lightly over her hands, and onto the tops of Elsa’s thighs. She runs her fingertips across Elsa’s knees, edging slightly higher with each pass. ‘Below the belt,’ as Elsa said months ago like the adorable nerd she is. With each pass, Elsa shivers, smiles, returning to face Honeymaren. Her eyes flutter as she relaxes into the touch, eventually nuzzling against Honeymaren’s shoulder. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

“I’ll let you know if I’m not,” Elsa replies, cupping Honeymaren’s face gently.

Honeymaren kisses her, softly returns, “Thank you.” Then she gasps. As she speaks, Elsa trails her cool fingertips down Honeymaren’s neck to her chest, grasping at her breasts over her shirt and sports bra. Haze covers Honeymaren’s brain while Elsa’s thumbs go looking for her nipples, hidden under too many layers. The chill reaches through, though.

Elsa whispers beside Honeymaren’s ear, “I like that, do you?”

“Obviously!” she growls. Her hands seize at Elsa’s hips, then round the corner to grab her lean ass. _Finally, thank god!_ Honeymaren surges forward to demand her lips as well. When she whimpers into Honeymaren’s mouth, she wraps her arm around Elsa’s waist, lifting her and laying her back on the bed. Elsa yelps. They giggle as they jostle each other, both of them trying to get at the other. While they sit back up, Honeymaren straddles Elsa’s thighs, kisses her hard and rests her hands at Elsa’s hips—she wants to hear that whimper again.

Then Elsa pulls away.

Before she can ask if anything’s wrong, Elsa grasps Honeymaren’s hands and places them at the top button of her blouse. Red lips return to Honeymaren’s neck, kissing and sucking enthusiastically, making her weak. Dutiful, she starts unbuttoning Elsa’s shirt, smiling because she’s certain she’ll have a necklace of hickies herself by the time the shirt comes off. As the blouse falls away from Elsa’s chest, however, Honeymaren gasps, genuinely surprised. Shocked. Speechless, even. Elsa releases her mouth from her neck a moment, looking up into her eyes with the most seductive gaze Honeymaren has ever seen.

Recovering, Honeymaren returns the look, feeling oddly proud of her girlfriend. Heat sizzles down her spine, and she continues unbuttoning the shirt while feasting with her eyes: Lingerie—a dark blue one-piece, silky against her fingertips and daring in design—slowly reveals itself, contrasting and highlighting Elsa’s pale skin and lean figure in the late morning sunlight.

“No comments?” Elsa asks, simpers, flipping her loose blonde hair to one side. The only tell of how anxious she actually feels is the slightest tremble of her ruby bottom lip.

“You _planned_ this,” Honeymaren growls, smirking, pulling aside each side of the blouse.

The satisfaction on Elsa’s face speaks for her, but a second later she giggles timidly. “I did.”

Licking her lips and leaning forward to lift the blouse away, Honeymaren stays up on her knees, grinning down at Elsa. Tossing the shirt aside, she caresses from Elsa’s bright cheeks down her neck and shoulders. “Should I take this as a hint to be more assertive? Or merely an extremely motivating visual?”

Although Elsa flushes—across her whole body, Honeymaren can now tell, which makes her proud of herself—she nods, says, “Both, if you like.”

Moaning, Honeymaren kisses her deeply, sinking down and embracing her, relishing the way Elsa squeezes her arms and keens when Honeymaren’s fingers cross her bare back. Holding her tight, Honeymaren moves Elsa back to the pillows, drags her fingertips all over her. When her hands linger over Elsa’s breasts, kneading gently, Elsa takes hold of Honeymaren’s hair, pulling her down. “Now hold on,” Honeymaren objects with a smile, pulling away. “Let’s see the rest first.”

“If you can handle it,” Elsa challenges.

“Now I have to!” Honeymaren grins, giddy again. They kiss softly, and Elsa giggles. It is, without a doubt, the best sensation. Leaning back, Honeymaren pulls back Elsa’s skinny jeans and gasps again, before they’re even all the way off. She moans at the sight, cheeks blazing, continues to remove the pants. Looking to Elsa’s eyes for a moment’s reassurance, Honeymaren hums, astonished to spot that the lingerie is, in fact, crotchless.

Before she can recuperate, though, Elsa sits up. With faux irritation, she says, “You said that _you_ would also be naked.”

Honeymaren grins, nodding. “I did.” Elsa yanks her muscle tank off before she can herself, and she unbuttons Honeymaren’s jeans. In turn, Honeymaren pulls her sports bra off, jumps off the bed to kick off her pants and underwear. As she returns to Elsa’s side, Honeymaren bites her lip. Elsa’s speechless, eyes wide, examining her. The temperature drops a little, a wonderful relief from all the heat building in Honeymaren’s body.

“Did you say something?”

Elsa shakes her head no.

Feeling smug, Honeymaren crawls between Elsa’s legs, asks, “Are you sure? Weren’t you asking for some…” Honeymaren looks down at Elsa’s chest, lingering long enough to get her to look as well. “… attention?”

“Yes,” Elsa breathes. Her hands—tight in the sheets prior to this—lift to Honeymaren’s chest.

“Oh,” Honeymaren groans, hooded eyes lost in Elsa’s face at the touch. Though her hands aren’t as chilled as before, the cool touch teases her to softly pebbled peaks with speed. After a minute of Elsa’s caresses, Honeymaren quietly says, “I’m supposed to…”

“Sorry, I—”

“Don’t be sorry!”

Elsa whispers sweetly, “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

 _Just kill me now,_ Honeymaren thinks, sure she will never feel so gut-wrenchingly good ever again. “You.” At last Honeymaren lowers her mouth to Elsa’s chest. Keening rings in her ears. In return, she moans as she licks and sucks and nibbles from one uncovered nipple to the other and back, striving to hold Elsa down while her legs writhe beneath Honeymaren’s stomach. Elsa grasps for her, can’t seem to reach wherever she wants to go, undoes Honeymaren’s braid.

She can’t resist looking up at Elsa as she loses it, all the more when their eyes meet. At long last, Elsa whimpers again. Encouraged, Honeymaren rises her hand to one of Elsa’s wrists, then the other. Another whimper, and Honeymaren surges forward, holds Elsa’s wrists down above her head. Still writhing under her, Elsa’s back arches, and her legs squeeze round Honeymaren’s leg. When she finally drops her blonde head to the bed, Honeymaren lets her go. Noticing how her leg feels, she leans close and comments, “You are so wet.”

Nodding and shrugging, breathless, Elsa whispers back, “True.”

Sitting back on her calves, Honeymaren watches Elsa squirm a little, moan at the loss of touch, back arching. As she returns her hands to Elsa’s body—takes Elsa’s hands to kiss them, drags fingers up her arms and squeezes her chest, runs them down her stomach and up her thighs—Honeymaren asks, “Shall we do something about that?”

Elsa huffs, nods again. “You absolutely should.”

“Mmm!” Honeymaren hums, trying not to smile too much. But she’s genuinely delighted, throbbing with the desire to drink Elsa up and bring her to climax. Her hands caress Elsa back up to her ribs, ghost over her pale stomach and trail down. At the last inch, she moves to either side, caressing over the lingerie, much to Elsa’s consternation. Instead, she lies fully upon Elsa, tucks her hands between Elsa and the bed, relishes cupping her ass at long last.

“I might honestly leave this on,” she admits as she presses kisses across Elsa’s stomach, admiring the lingerie’s accessibility.

Just as she starts to kiss Elsa’s inner thighs, however, Elsa reaches into her hair and pulls. Looking up, Honeymaren asks, “Are you okay?”

“Y-yes, I…” Elsa starts, moving her hands to Honeymaren’s face. Biting her lip, looking excited and a little scared, she continues, “I want you close. Come up here?”

“Of course.” Honeymaren crawls up, settles on Elsa’s side. Elsa swings her leg over Honeymaren’s hip. They gaze into each other’s eyes, tender and excited and anxious and wanting. Caressing one another, Elsa nods slightly. Kissing her gently, Honeymaren glides her hand down between them, first stroking Elsa’s inner thighs, then lightly palming over her groin, whimpering. “Fuck, Elsa,” she whispers, watching Elsa’s reactions carefully. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

Elsa nods, whining, fingers tight around Honeymaren but unable to decide where she most needs to hold on. “Yes!”

“Have you been worked up all morning?” Honeymaren asks, smiling genuinely. “All night?”

Again, Elsa whimpers, nods, pressing her forehead to Honeymaren’s. “You do it to me,” she keens as Honeymaren runs her fingers through impossibly slick folds. “All the time.”

“Oh, Elsa,” Honeymaren whispers, kissing her soft. “Let me take care of you!” Although she nods again, her breathing speeds up unexpectedly. Slowing her movements to a stop, Honeymaren nuzzles Elsa softly. Taking her hint, Elsa matches her breathing, raise her hands to Honeymaren’s chest.

Satisfied, she palms over Elsa’s clit. She keens at the touch. Elsa massages Honeymaren’s breasts in return, but her hands chill, and Honeymaren gasps. Flinching away immediately, Elsa’s eyes dart to Honeymaren’s. “D-did I—?!”

“Turn me on?” Honeymaren breathes, smirking. “Yes.” Propping herself up on her elbow, she takes Elsa’s hand and returns it to her chest. Biting her lip, feeling her own body smolder under Elsa’s touch, Honeymaren strives to keep her eyes open. She blinks back the haze, waiting patiently for coy Elsa to return.

A smile teases at the corner of Elsa’s lips, so Honeymaren returns her hand to Elsa’s stomach, drags it down over skin and fabric until she again rests upon Elsa’s center. This time, she swirls two fingers around her clit, slowly. The drawn-out cry that rises out of Elsa sends Honeymaren reeling herself. She keeps her movements slow, but also tries to rub her own thighs against each other to get some relief.

Chilled hands return to her torso, clinging to Honeymaren’s back. Elsa moans repeatedly, pressing her mouth to Honeymaren’s chest. Her own arousal grows unbearably, and Elsa’s shivering from head to toe doesn’t help. Despite herself, Honeymaren finds her hand slipping round Elsa’s clit faster, with greater ease. “Fuck!” Honeymaren gasps.

All of a sudden, Elsa grabs Honeymaren’s wrist and pulls. Understanding quickly, Honeymaren does not delay. She presses one finger into Elsa, moaning, shocked at the ease of it. Elsa clings to her, moaning into Honeymaren’s neck. Wrapping around her, Honeymaren extends her thumb and finds Elsa’s clit, and pets her—just like she runs her thumb over Elsa’s knuckles when they hold hands. Only then does Honeymaren thrust anew into Elsa, letting her fingers explore for the best place to drive into her.

“There!” Elsa cries. She wraps her arms around Honeymaren’s waist, pulling them flush, holding on like her life depends on it. Words fail them now. Honeymaren can only moan at the bliss of holding Elsa tight, of feeling all of her, and Elsa whimpers and keens and nods. Vaguely, Honeymaren notices a chilly fog filling the room, and smiles at how it glistens.

At long last, she begs. “Don’t stop!” Elsa cries, voice cracking against Honeymaren’s shoulder. “D-Don’t let go! Don’t y-you dare!”

“Never,” Honeymaren pants, holds her tighter, damn near ready to come herself if she’s not careful. In that instant she suddenly remembers—Elsa is the fifth spirit. When she feels Elsa start to clench around her fingers, she presses harder, presses a deep kiss to Elsa’s lips. _OhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygod!_

 _“Honeymmm!”_ Elsa’s cry reverberates around them, escaping from the corners of her mouth as she shakes and writhes under Honeymaren’s weight.

It’s so beautiful that Honeymaren can’t help but sing along, happily calling, “Yes, _please_ , Elsa! Yes, come on! Fuck! God! You are so _gorgeous!”_ As it turns out, she wasn’t careful, and her own body trembles lightly, carried on Elsa’s ecstasy.

The cries stop before the shaking.

Together they lay tangled, soft and buzzing, unbothered by the receding frost on the walls and ceiling.

*** 

For several minutes, Elsa and Honeymaren hold each other, kissing each other soft and nuzzling, ignoring the whole world.

Suddenly Elsa sits up, gasps, “Oh SHIT! The cake!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If NSFW content is what you avoid... they took a nap.
> 
> In any case, they hecked up. Oops!
> 
> And for the NSFW readers, if you wondered why Elsa blushed without warning or explanation the night before, now you know why ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> \---  
> I cannot believe I am doing this, because I sincerely hope this is not news to anybody, but look - if you don't know how a couple could talk about sex while not having sex for months, I present: https://www.scarleteen.com/article/advice/yes_no_maybe_so_a_sexual_inventory_stocklist
> 
> I'm sure the internet is full of resources like this but I'm just gonna put this one out there. Sex ed is important, communication is key, and I have a sneaking suspicion more people need a resource like that than anyone will ever admit.


	15. Disaster Lesbians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL
> 
> You don't want this to be over  
> I don't want this to be over  
> I promise there will be more Kaffeost AU in the future (albeit, probably one shots, and I can't promise it'll be angst-free 100%)
> 
> I already got one or two shorter stories in mind, so please read this and find comfort because Y'ALL HAVE BEEN SO TOO KIND TO ME for real
> 
> Seriously, from the bottom of my heart, even more than my 'Flinch' story, y'all make me feel like a 'real' writer, like I can write something outside of fandom and maybe sell it, maybe make some money off it and not have to trade my disabled life for it (Fuck COVID 2020 and 2021)
> 
> PS Dear Kaffeost readers who read my angsty stories that are NOT Kaggeost at all - you are so so brave and I love you (if you cannot, don't be discouraged - I can't mentally handle reading angst very much myself)
> 
> Okay, back to regular notes  
> \---  
> Teen +  
> Yeah, sex happened last chapter but it's fine

🚨🏳️🌈

**Chapter 15: Disaster Lesbians**

**Elsa**

While Elsa stands fixed, frozen to the kitchen floor in her lingerie and Honeymaren’s robe, Honeymaren races around the apartment, saying things that Elsa doesn’t hear. She stares at the cake pans, recently retrieved from the oven, burnt. Not flaming at least, but not good at all. Vaguely, she’s aware of Honeymaren checking on the frosting in the fridge, running back to the bedroom to throw her clothes back on, shouting to Elsa from there, hopping around while pulling on shoes, grabbing keys and her leather jacket. At last, Elsa shakes herself. “Huh?”

Slowing down, Honeymaren approaches Elsa and lays her hands on her shoulders. “I’m going to the café, and I’ll bake cake layers as fast as I can or-or put together a basket of pastries for your sister,” Honeymaren says, more slowly. “I’m so, so sorry about this—it would have been a perfect cake. You did everything right. B-but the frosting’s still good! We can meet at your place, put the cake together, and I’ll get outta there before you two go out for her dinner.” Biting her lip, she asks, “Okay?”

Elsa nods, looking through Honeymaren.

Waiting, uncertain, she repeats herself, “I’m so sorry, Elsa. It’s my fault.”

This time Elsa glances at Honeymaren’s eyes. “Not your fault,” she says softly, shaking her head slightly. Her gaze falls again, unfocused. But a corner of her mouth twitches upward for a second when she realizes she did, in fact, leave a necklace of hickies on Honeymaren's neck, peeking out from the collar of her shirt.

“It’s at least half my fault,” she frowns, blushing slightly.

“No,” Elsa repeats herself, looking at Honeymaren again. They’re the same height when Elsa’s barefoot and Honeymaren’s in her boots, she observes. Allowing herself a slight smirk, Elsa quietly adds, “I’m the one who wore lingerie.”

“Oh,” Honeymaren coos, chuckles weakly. “I guess that’s true.”

“It is true.”

Honeymaren lifts her chin, kisses Elsa chaste and sweet. “I’ll let you know when I get there. Stay here as long as you need, anything you need, go for it, okay?”

Nodding once more, Elsa watches Honeymaren run out the back door, hears her motorcycle rev to life a few minutes later. After several minutes of standing there, her mind in limbo, Elsa decides to take a shower. She grabs her overnight bag from the bedroom, pauses to look at the bed, sheets tossed. The recent memories play through her mind, and they continue to do so as she navigates Honeymaren’s bathtub. Her mind barely wanders, leaving her wondering how on Earth she actually feels right now.

Ashamed? No.

Regret? A little, but not much.

Sorry? Again, not quite.

Disappointed? Yes, some of that one. They could have stopped when the timer went off and returned to their activities. If that had happened, she could be giving to Honeymaren as much attention as she received from her. Right now.

Afraid of Anna’s reaction? Yes. There it is: Elsa feels an incredible urge to tell Anna how she’s ruined her birthday cake, and therefore probably her whole birthday. And simultaneously, she dreads how her little sister will react. Her little, precious, chocolate- and birthday-loving sister.

Would she die? No. After all, she has magical powers— _No, wait, spiritual powers,_ Elsa corrects herself, recalling Anna’s own research on her behalf—and a small herd of elemental creatures to protect her. Worst case scenario?

_Those_ play out through her mind as she finishes cleaning herself and prepares to go home.

**Honeymaren**

As she trips, Honeymaren shrieks, mixing bowls falling from her hands and ringing as they hit the floor. From her knees, Gale blows by like she’s trying to pick the bowls up but just blows them across the floor.

“Gale!” Honeymaren chides, chasing after the bowls. Her windy companion chitters, allowing Honeymaren to take over bowl duty, instead blowing open all the drawers, blowing random tools onto countertops, and opening the flour and sugar trolleys with such ferocity than flour poofs, coating the entire kitchen in white dust.

“I don’t have time for this!” Honeymaren shouts. She tosses the bowls that fell into her tiny dishpit, runs back to dry storage for clean bowls—“Corner! Why am I saying corner?! I’m the only one here!”—returns to the island in her café’s kitchen. “Shit I need butter!”

She hears the walk-in door slam open. Peeking around the corner, she yelps as Gale carries _all_ of the butter out to the kitchen. It’s a lot of butter. “Bring me some eggs, too?” Honeymaren asks. Gale—now a floating puff of flour—whirls back to the walk-in. “Carefully!”

**Elsa**

As Elsa steps out of her car in the garage—shouldering her bag and hoisting up the wrapped bowl of cake frosting—she knows instantly that something’s off. She crosses the back yard a little slower than she might have otherwise, looking around. Something is decidedly amiss, but she can’t think of what it could be. Before walking up the back steps, she pauses, turns on the spot, cursing herself for only taking a pastry from Honeymaren’s kitchen when she could have made coffee, too. Nothing seems out of place, though. Elsa even peeks around to the side yard—Anna’s orange bike is still there, tires pumped full of air now, thanks to Honeymaren.

Shaking herself, Elsa blames the lack of caffeine, unlocks the door and walks in. When she enters the kitchen, however, Elsa immediately forgets to lock the door. She instantly knows what’s off.

In nothing but his boxers, mid-bite into a sandwich, Kristoff stands in the kitchen. Wide-eyed and frozen to the spot entirely on his own.

Elsa’s jaw drops, her eyebrows knitting together in shock and anger. Before she can think of something to say, though, Kristoff screws up his own face in confusion. “Wait,” he says. “If you are just getting home… then…”

Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead, daring him to continue his thought.

Kristoff gulps.

“Continue,” she instructs him through gritted teeth. He looks afraid. _Good_.

“Th… Then why were there noises from… your bedroom all, uh… all morning?”

She blinks rapidly, feels her anger fall off her face. That’s when Elsa realizes that, as she crossed the yard, she hadn’t been greeted by Nokk or Bruni. Nor Gale, which is odd. “What do you mean noi—?”

A small thud echoes down the hall and into the kitchen via the doorway that Elsa can’t quite see at this angle, by the back door. But, a moment later, she does see Anna tiptoe quickly into the room from that hallway, wearing only a large shirt that is _definitely_ Kristoff’s.

“That must be Elsa getting up—for real this time,” Anna whispers to him. Wise beyond his years, Kristoff keeps his eyes on Elsa and doesn’t move. Not even when Anna leans against him, clearly feeling up his bare stomach and chest. “Hey, a sandwich! Can I have a bite?” She’s already chewing by the time she waves her hand in front of Kristoff’s face. “Hello? Earth to Kristoff?”

“Anna.”

The redhead whips around to see Elsa standing there, the embodiment of deadpanning. “Elsa! What the—!”

“She just walked in,” Kristoff mumbles, trying to be helpful.

“Oh,” Anna says, then her eyes widen further. “Oh…” she repeats herself, lower, eyes darting around the room as she thinks fast. Elsa’s seen it a million times.

Stepping forward, Elsa points toward the hall and orders, “Kristoff. Clothes. Now.”

“I can’t—” Kristoff starts.

“He-he really can’t—” Anna agrees.

“She’s wearing my shirt.”

“And yeah, I’m-I’m—”

“Both of you then!” Elsa says coolly, narrowing her gaze. “Anna: You have one minute. Kristoff, you are to put clothes on, wait in her room for ten minutes silently, and then come back out here. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Ugh, Elsa!”

“Now!”

Another thud—presumably from Elsa’s room—meets their ears. Elsa glares at Anna’s guilty mug. “L-Let’s go get dressed, sweetie!” Anna says, grabbing Kristoff by the arm and pulling him along.

“But what was that sound then?”

**Honeymaren**

Pacing does not make cake bake any faster, but Honeymaren does it anyway. She already cleaned up, and Gale continues to ‘clean’ while she paces. _It’s going to be okay,_ Honeymaren thinks, repeatedly and at a frantic pace. _It’s going to be okay. It’s going—_

The timer dings, and Honeymaren leaps to the oven, Gale ringing in her ears. She’s in such a rush, Honeymaren nearly reaches in with her bare hands. “Towel!” She tells herself. In half a second, Gale finds a chef’s towel and drops it in Honeymaren’s hands. With practiced, swift ease, Honeymaren takes the cake layers out of the oven, quickly stacks them into three separate chambers of a carrying case, locks it shut. “We did it, Gale!”

She laughs as Gale sweeps her off her feet, clearly happy. Honeymaren hadn’t ever imagined the spirits of nature or the fifth spirit could be real, until she met Elsa of course, but now it seems delightful to learn that they each have personalities. “Come on,” she tells Gale, carefully placing the case in her bag and dashing for the door. “Let’s get going!”

In no time, Honeymaren revs her T120 Bonneville to life. But Gale starts pushing Honeymaren and the motorcycle with gusto, leaving her screaming in her helmet at her speed.

**Elsa**

Pacing, Elsa has half a mind to let Samantha out of her bedroom and set her on Kristoff and Anna for trapping her in there. Instead, she tosses her bag on the counter and places the bowl of frosting in the fridge, thankful that at least Anna was too distracted to ask about it. As it occurs to her to text Honeymaren and let her know that Anna did _not_ in fact spend the night at Kristoff’s, as Elsa expected, Anna herself rounds the corner into the kitchen, prepared.

“Elsa, I am an adult and I have needs!” she starts, puffing herself up. Anna crosses her arms and tries to make a face at Elsa. An angry face perhaps, but Elsa can see right through it.

“You and I,” she begins, all the more dangerous for her quiet, “both know that your _needs_ are not the issue here.”

“I—wait, they’re not?” Anna asks, backing off slightly.

“No,” Elsa says. “I fully expected you to spend the night at _Kristoff’s_.”

“You knew about that already?” Anna squeaks.

“I have a law degree, Anna!” Elsa groans. “I have a brain!”

“Okay, then, I dunno—” Anna starts, mirroring Elsa’s energy while she thinks of some kind of retort.

“The issue is that you brought him _here!_ Where there lots of magical—”

“Spiritual,” Anna corrects her quietly.

“Whatever!” Elsa shouts. Forcing her voice down, she continues, “There are _forces here_ that he cannot know about! Not to mention the _danger_ you could have put him in!”

“Danger?!” Anna balks, marching to the spot on the counter where Elsa likes to sit and stealing it. “What danger? Sure, the spirits are… a lot,” she admits. “But they don’t do harm on purpose.”

_Wanna bet?_ Elsa thinks, remembering the spirits’ dangerous reaction to her own drunken escapade a few months ago. Instead of admitting that to Anna, or making plain that the spirits are far more a hindrance in her own life than Anna’s, she rolls her eyes and rubs her temple. “They are not used to strangers, Anna. Even if they’re familiar with our own…” _Feelings._ “— _energies_ for someone, they’ll still react. And what did you do to Samantha?”

“Samantha?” Anna asks.

_Shit_ , _that’s Honeymaren’s name for her._ Elsa shrugs, reveals nothing, shaking her head. “I don’t know, we need to name her something.”

“We do, that’s a cute name,” Anna nods. “Oooh! We could call her Sammy for short!”

“Why is she locked in my room, Anna?! Focus!”

“I didn’t lock her in!” Anna defends. She hops back down off the countertop, unable to hold still. “I thought you were in there, and I didn’t want her to let herself up from the basement, so I let her into your room to babysit while unconscious!”

“What?!”

Anna shrugs. “I don’t know! I was drunk! I put Bruni in there, too!”

“How on earth did you keep Bruni in there? He can fit under the door,” Elsa asks.

“I…” Anna grins sheepishly, “Maybe put a wet towel down in front of the door.”

“Meaning they’ve been tearing my room apart all night.”

“Yeah, that seems likely,” Anna whispers guiltily.

Again, Elsa paces, too irritated to keep looking at Anna directly. “Wait, you two didn’t have sex while you were drunk, did you?”

_“Elsa!”_ Anna yelps, scandalized and tomato-red. “No!”

“No?”

“We sobered up first!” Anna whispers, urgent and defensive, before she covers her own mouth with both hands. “Shit, why did I say that?”

“Again, Anna,” Elsa says, trying so hard to be patient with her little sister. Who she loves. Who is even making Elsa blush right now because she, Elsa, did not need to know about any of this. “It’s not about whether you had sex—”

Her sister squirms.

“Shush—It’s about where and under what circumstances.”

From the hall, Kristoff’s muffled voice calls out: “Uh, I don’t know if you should know this, but there are still sounds coming from Elsa’s room?”

“It’s a stray cat!” Anna lies back to him. “Why did I say that?!”

“I honestly don’t know,” Elsa replies. She sighs, aggravated.

“Just,” Anna says, stepping closer and daring to take Elsa’s hand, “before you get anymore mad at me than you are, just remember… birthday!”

Inhaling deeply, Elsa closes her eyes. She releases the breath, opens her eyes, and calmly goes to sit at her spot on the kitchen countertop. In return, Anna goes to the doorway to the hall, leans against the doorframe there. Their respective, habitual spots for talking.

“Wait, then where were you last night?” Anna asks.

“I repeat,” Elsa says, sighing again and lifting her eyebrow at her sister, “Law. Bar exam.” It’s not a lie—she’d been up quite late studying.

“Excellent point,” Anna concedes. She looks into the hallway. A moment later, Kristoff enters, looking guiltily to Elsa first. When she doesn’t murder him on sight, he turns to Anna with concern, kissing her forehead, and stands by her side.

“Elsa,” he says. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Save it, Kristoff,” Elsa groans. “I’m not actually upset with you much.”

“You’re not?” he asks. To Anna, he adds, “She’s not mad at me?”

Sighing, Anna replies, “No, it’s mostly me.”

Elsa hums a disapproving sound.

A number of things happen suddenly and all at once.

The back-door bursts open. Gale rushes forward, chittering loudly and filling both the kitchen and the front room with summer leaves and—strangely—flour. (By the sounds of a door slam, Gale manages to open Elsa’s bedroom door as well.) In the doorway stands Honeymaren, looking wild in her leather jacket and helmet. A cylindrical, plastic case sticks out of a large backpack, with three separated layers of chocolate cake in it. Running inside, Gale’s force pushes Honeymaren across the room to Elsa with impossible speed. And it occurs to Elsa—in this split second during which ALL of this transpires—that Honeymaren could not and did not see Kristoff and Anna in the hall doorway from where she had been standing at the back door.

“Elsa!” Honeymaren utters, breathless, as she sets down the cake carrier and sweeps her motorcycle helmet off. With (A) sunlight streaming in the still-open door; (B) Gale tousling Honeymaren’s hair; and (C) her voice saying Elsa’s name in almost the exact tone she did as said Elsa climaxed in her arms that morning—the blonde in question accidentally freezes her palms to the countertop. And blushes more than she ever has in her life, including taking the risk of wearing lingerie that morning. Brand new lingerie she bought online a couple weeks ago.

To make matters worse, Honeymaren leans up and kisses her full on the lips, without restraint.

“The cake’s still warm, but we can put frosting on it soon, Gale helped! And I’ll get out of here before Anna gets home, promise. It’s gonna be okay!”

Behind her, however: “Uhhhhhhhhhh…”

Honeymaren’s beautiful smile falls. Her pupils contract, watching Elsa. For her part, Elsa merely shrugs a little, accepts her fate. Grimacing as the “uh” continues, Honeymaren slowly looks over her shoulder, spots Anna vocalizing and Kristoff. He, Elsa notes with the slightest smile, looks impressed.

“Who are you?!” Anna shouts. Loudly, but not angrily. “Wait, frosting?”

Turning between the sisters, Honeymaren begs Elsa for guidance with her rich brown eyes. But they’re distracting, beautiful eyes, and Elsa finds herself longing to see Honeymaren really beg instead of paying attention.

“I’m…” Honeymaren says quietly to Anna while facing Elsa. “Shit, I fucked up.”

“No,” Elsa insists softly to her, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. Honeymaren blushes a little but relaxes slightly at the touch. When Elsa holds her cheek a moment, she turns to it slightly and brushes her lips against her palm. Behind her, Anna’s jaw drops, her finger pointing, astounded. Even Kristoff looks uncertain of what her reaction means.

“YOU’RE THE MOTORCYCLE! COFFEE MOTORBIKE! RYDER SISTER LADY! HONEYMAREN!” Anna shrieks at last, pumping her fist briefly as she remembers Honeymaren’s name.

Spinning on her heels, Honeymaren grimaces, holds her helmet in front of her chest like a shield. “I uh—”

“Anna,” Elsa warns.

The pointing finger moves to Elsa, and again Anna shouts. “YOU SAID YOU’D KILL ME IF I EVER RODE A MOTORCYCLE!”

“With Hans!” Elsa corrects.

“YOU CALLED IT A DEATH TRAP! THAT YOU RODE JUST THE ONE TIME MONTHS AGO!”

Elsa shouts back, “Hans LITERALLY tried to kill you! And me!”

“He WHAT?!” Honeymaren and Kristoff exclaim in unison, but Honeymaren glares dangerously at Kristoff, already raising her fists.

“OH MY GOODNESS, NO!” Anna shrieks, stepping in front of Kristoff.

Unfazed by Honeymaren, Kristoff raises his hand and sighs, “Hi, I’m Kristoff.” Instead, he focuses on Anna, rests his hands on her shoulders. “Who tried to kill you?!”

Through worried, gnashing teeth, Anna hisses at her sister, “You blamed the neighbors for the motorcycle sounds!”

“I lied,” Elsa shrugs, gently lowering Honeymaren’s fight-ready hands.

Kristoff, again, tries to redirect Anna’s attention. “Hello? Attempted murder?”

He does not succeed. Anna shouts at Elsa, “Why?!”

“Because the cake! Secret birthday cake!” Honeymaren yelps quickly. Elsa gives the back of her head a quizzical look.

“Honey, she saw us,” Elsa whispers from her seat on the counter.

But Honeymaren shivers, looking over her shoulder at Elsa with such softness that Elsa brings her hand to her chest, touched. “Did you just call me Honey?”

“Is that okay?”

As Honeymaren slowly smiles up at Elsa, the two of them in their own world, Anna keeps talking. “So wait, wait, wait! Okay, this is so much information. What about a cake?”

Just then, Samantha the rock toddler rounds the corner from the hallway, Bruni aflame on top of her head, also ready to fight. Seeing Honeymaren, the pair run to her happily, Bruni trilling to her.

“Hey!” Honeymaren calls, smiling broadly at them both as if a regular human child and an ordinary pet approached. They embrace, and Elsa sucks in air through her teeth, remembering Kristoff, but her eyes are naturally drawn to Anna’s face. If she thought her little sister looked shocked before, Elsa’s mistaken. Her stare moves slowly from Honeymaren—muttering to herself, “Oh shit, did I fuck up again?”—to Elsa.

Several moments pass in silence, during which the sisters slowly turn to the man in the room. Before either of them can work up words to say, however, Kristoff mutters plainly, “I already knew about the spirits.”

All three women turn on him: “WHAT?!”

He winces, rubbing the back of his neck while grimacing down to Anna. “I borrowed your laptop remember? You had all those tabs open! With really, _really_ specific search terms. I was going to say that you should clear your search history more often.”

“You can clear it?” Anna asks, mystified.

“Oh my God,” Elsa moans, cradling her face in her hands.

“So you knew?” Anna asks Kristoff. He nods. Then she points at Honeymaren, “And you knew?!” She nods as well. Then it really clicks: “Wait!” Anna exclaims. “You _knew_ -knew! You said that stuff about spirits while I was at the café! You-You super knew! You set it all up, you knew before I did!”

Both Honeymaren’s and Kristoff’s shoulders shrug up, bracing themselves as the former attempts to speak. “I mean… yes, I—”

“Okay, enough!” Anna shouts. She glares from one person in her kitchen to another, freezing them all to the spot—even Bruni and Samantha hold still. Marching up to Honeymaren, Anna first inspects the cake carrier.

“I—”

Anna holds her finger against Honeymaren’s lips, silencing her. She opens the carrier, smells the cake within. Turning her eyes to Honeymaren again, she quickly looks her up and down. Her pointer finger lowers from Honeymaren’s lips, drags the neckline of Honeymaren’s shirt down.

“How dare you?!” Elsa hisses, seeing Honeymaren’s ears blaze red (which, Elsa has learned, is no easy task). Anna doesn’t respond, focused on her inspection. That’s when Elsa remembers the hickies. Her little sister’s face turns from suspicious and dour to entirely too pleased. She lets go of Honeymaren’s shirt, cocks her hip, and tilts her head at Elsa.

“She’s invited to dinner.”

“What?”

“No, I-I should not—"

“Kristoff, too.”

“The reservation—!”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” Anna quips, smirking smugly. She points at herself, circles her own face. “Birthday!”

She’s right. Elsa can’t fight with that.

Punctuating her words with claps, Anna says, “Best. Birthday. Ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIGGEST OF SHOUT OUTS TO ANDREU!!!!! A random what's it... mad lib is why this story exists! More than that, Thanks to Andreu, I got to give some small expression of nostalgia and love to the food+bev industry I've worked in for the last 5-7 years minus this shitass excuse for a year.
> 
> \---  
> A final drunken plea below:
> 
> Please stay safe. Please wear a mask even if no one else does. Even if people yell at you about it (and seriously I feel that). I've seen restaurants - which are the livelihoods of dozens of people each - fall the fuck apart because of one exposure (NOT EVEN A FULL BLOWN CASE OF COVID). So many of us don't stay in that industry because it's easy. It isn't. Anyone who tells you bartending, serving, or (dear GOD) cooking at a restaurant (or ANY SUPPORT ROLE, polisher, dishwasher, server assistant, busser, food runner, expo ETC) is 'unskilled work' is lying to you. The kindest people I have ever met. More often than not, they/we LOVE you at first sight without ever getting to say so or express it beyond our service, and SO SO SO often, folks get jack shit in return.
> 
> Please I beg you, order food to-go, and tip your restaurant and/or driver well. I still haven't found safe work elsewhere and I'm a lucky one. Treat these people with respect - they know the truck drivers, the farm owners, the individual farmers and harvesters, etc. We would rather tell you XYZ is 'out' than tell you that five million things outside our control prevented this cocktail, this wine, this food from being available. We take your allergies and sensitivities more seriously than your doctor, even when we fuck up because that guy at the other table yelled at us for ten minutes straight. Or the electricity in half our building went out, so the ice cream is X degrees instead of X-1 degrees. Or called us slurs every single day, and we can't legally kick him out.
> 
> The only place I've ever seen cleanliness taken as seriously as a restaurant is at a hospital when my father almost died.   
> And that one time I toured NASA (long story).   
> (Not that everyone is perfect, there are total jackasses in every line of work). 
> 
> More than anything, be kind. Be so kind that you kinda wanna vomit when you get home, that you find yourself with a bit of unexpected debt, that you question your loyalties to capitalism. Without kindness, the whole world's global food systems will collapse - and we WANT to feed you, we WANT you to feel like the most special person. Because you are.

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy the positive (I hope) vibes!


End file.
